A Crack in Oblivion
by DauntlessGrace
Summary: Set after the AtS finale "Not Fade Away." Buffy finds herself drawn to Los Angeles to warn Angel of a vivid dream evoking what appears to be a dangerous unfulfilled prophecy of the entire city in ruins. But it's her rather sudden arrival that ends up being the very catalyst that has already set the battle into motion. Post series with a bit of a twist. Spuffy.
1. Prologue: In Dreams

Disclaimer: I just own the fanfiction. The characters all belong to Joss Whedon and Co.

Note: This story takes place after the _AtS_ series finale, "Not Fade Away." I don't read the comics at all, so this is my own take on what transpires. I have about 11 chapters written thus far, because I actually started it last year.

Prologue: In Dreams

_"Then indecision brings its own delays,  
And days are lost lamenting o'er lost days.  
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;  
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it;  
Boldness has genius, power and magic in it."_  
- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

_Rome, Italy_

The images were harrowed and fleeting, as they arduously wrapped their way around her subconscious mind, invading the vacant crevices with an unrelenting convolution of murderous destruction. Her closed lids fluttered briefly in the vast array of darkness that effortlessly encompassed her, and she willingly surrendered herself to the picture that was savagely unfolding a short distance away, unable to fall back on the impervious confines of reality.

She saw her bare feet cautiously touch down upon the dry and cracked pavement littered with dead leaves and scattered dirt, the smell of nearby smoke eagerly invading her nostrils, keenly struggling to overpower her senses. The earth felt warm and spent beneath her meticulously calculated steps as she advanced even further into the current state of unavoidable chaos, her surroundings shielding themselves in a transparent veil. Her long, thin white dress clung loosely to her small frame and trailed behind her in the dust, her wide eyes briskly scanning the area for any visible signs of life.

Commanding buildings that had once stood tall and bravely dazzled the familiar city with their brilliance, now lay forgotten and scattered among the troubled ruins, their contents having crumbled into a million pieces. The remaining vehicles that haphazardly lined the deserted streets were no exception, and patiently began waiting out the sheer devastation that had succeeded in demolishing their fragments to insignificant amounts of nothingness, holding them entirely responsible for the belated consequences. She heard nothing but cold, deliberate silence as she forced herself to press forward, the air so completely still it chilled her to the bone, unmistakably evoking an unsullied fear that traveled straight down her spine.

Thick, gray clouds of vapor hung heavily in a somber sky, and when she caught her first glimpse of the young, innocent face staring back at her through the ominous veil of fog, her heart literally caught in her chest. It was a little boy. A little boy whose dark, curly head of hair was covered in ashes, and his clothes a torn, tattered mess, as he watched her with an inquisitive pair of beautiful blue eyes- a strange, yet hopeful smile troubling his countenance. His tiny, outstretched hand beckoned eagerly toward her, urging her to venture a bit closer, his mouth uttering words she was incapable of hearing.

She hesitated for only a moment, but it was already too late.

The boy had mysteriously vanished, and in his place stood a much taller figure adorned in a hooded black cloak, his face completely obscured from view. He, too, affably extended a hand to her in confidence. His gesture, however, wasn't tempting her forward, but merely urging her to consent to his unspoken offer. There was something so vaguely familiar about him, although she found it was terribly problematic to form any kind of placid, coherent thought when her brain was pretty much fumbling and falling victim to the hazy depths of sleep.

"_Buffy_."

Her name.

She could hear the muddled voice drawing her from the desolation, but she was so close now. So close, and she had to know.

If she could just...

"Buffy, wake up." There was a brief pause, and she felt herself being repeatedly shaken back and forth. "Buffy?"

Her green eyes flashed open to a dimly lit bedroom with parted cream colored curtains, the faintest sliver of daylight seeping through as her gaze locked onto a pair of frightened blue eyes. She blinked and sucked in a harsh breath, trying in vain to bring herself into an upright position while she struggled to get her bearings. She shoved at the covers as somewhat of an afterthought, precariously pushing them to the very edge of the bed, her frame of vision curiously inspecting her bare feet as she wiggled her toes for good measure.

They were feet that bore no remnants of a street caked with the dirt or ash of a world in peril. The black sweat pants and pink spaghetti strap top that she wore were a far cry from the long white dress, and it was the same outfit she previously recalled throwing on the night before.

Nothing appeared to be different, yet something still was.

Her apartment. She was in her apartment, and there wasn't only one concerned stare being directed at her, there were two. She shook her head, as if to free it from the apocalyptic tale that had been spinning falsehoods in her mind, wishing to erase whatever the lucid dream had mistakenly chose to clutter it with. Despite all of her efforts, she was finding it awfully hard to let it go. "Dawn?"

"You were talking in your sleep," her sister explained, tucking a strand of light, long brown hair behind one ear, as she adjusted her weight on the side of the bed, letting one leg swing casually over the side. "It was pretty bad. Andrew heard you, and he- are you sure you're okay, Buffy?"

"I had to pee," Andrew Wells answered from the doorway, awkwardly crossing his arms over his chest.

"A _little_ too much information there," the slayer confirmed, sending him a quizzical look before turning back to the younger girl. "But yes, I'm fine. Honest. In fact, I'd go as far as to say I'm more than fine."

"Really? Because you didn't look fine," Andrew continued, nervously regarding the pattern on the carpet below him as he spoke. "I mean, not that I could tell a whole lot in the dark or anything, but you really didn't. You were kind of sweaty and, well...gross."

"Again, too much information," Buffy pressed, rolling her eyes at him.

"Was it another nightmare?" Dawn asked, as she deviated her attention from Andrew to her sister once again, a bit of worry still strongly evident upon her features.

"I'm not sure what it was," she quietly admitted, as she reached over to flip on her bedside lamp, bathing the room in the softest of glows. "It all went by so fast, and I saw some things that I..."

Los Angeles. It was Los Angeles. The landmarks may have been obscured in the wake of the wreckage, but she would know them anywhere. There was no mistaking it- just as there was no mistaking a single oversight on behalf of any higher powers that may or not have intervened to show them to her. Her heart sank, as she swung her legs over the bed in a single, fluid motion, her teeth chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip.

Giles had informed her that word had reached him with confirmation that Angel and his team had taken out The Circle of the Black Thorn, but had incurred the wrath of the Senior Partners, who unleashed an army in hopes of annihilating him for his betrayal. It had prompted the Scooby Gang to question their doubts on where Angel's loyalties had truly lied when he agreed to initially become C.E.O. of the law firm, and all was supposedly well and good in terms of communication between him and her former Watcher now.

The city hadn't crumbled, and Angel and his remaining allies had temporarily relocated to headquarters he'd been in no position to reveal just yet- and probably with good reason, considering the trust issues. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, and a man she had never met named Charles Gunn, had ultimately fallen in battle, and Buffy had even learned about Angel running with some demon called Illyria, who Giles had simply classified as one of the Old Ones- whatever that meant. She really wasn't in research mode a whole lot these days.

She hadn't actually spoken to her former lover in a good long while, but the fact remained that she was still seeing things that she shouldn't be seeing, especially since the grand finale on his end had already traipsed on through without making the world too worse for the wear. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"What?" Dawn murmured. "What is it?"

Buffy pulled open a dresser drawer, tossing a turtleneck sweater and pair of jeans out of it, promptly reaching over to open the one below it where she began to rummage for unmentionables, prying through the disarray inside. She also managed to locate a pair of worn black boots sitting in the right corner of her closet, heedlessly picking them up and tossing them near the bed, where they hurriedly landed in a fairly crumpled heap. "Look, it doesn't matter," she told her. "It might not even be important, Dawnie, but I think I have to go."

"Wait, _go_?" came the echo. "What are you talking about? Go where? Buffy, it's eight in the morning."

"Los Angeles."

"Buffy-"

"I need to see Angel," she responded, cutting her off. It really did seem that simple, and for just a minute, she actually truly believed it was. But when it all came down to it, Buffy was convinced she knew herself a hell of a lot better than that.

"I don't understand. You said it wasn't that bad. You said you couldn't even remember most of what you saw," Dawn countered, immediately finding herself perturbed at the sudden change of events that had provoked such a strong reaction in her older sister. It was ludicrous and irresponsible, and once she thought up a few more adjectives, she was sure they'd fit in there really well, too. "Besides, the last time I checked, Angel had a phone. Would it hurt to just pick yours up and call him?'"

"I can't if I don't know where he is. He hasn't given Giles a number, so the odds aren't really in my favor if he's playing stealth guy again."

"Okay, well, say you get there and you can't find him? Then what? Are you going to just walk around until something else finds you first?"

"That's why you're staying here with Andrew," Buffy brought forth, inwardly cringing at how cruel that must have sounded, but desperately wanting to protect her all the same.

"I don't get a say in this?" Andrew piped up, his mouth forming a tight line. "Mr. Giles has been training me. I have moves now."

"Yes, but you're still an amateur," she insisted.

"Am not," he argued childishly, putting his hands on his hips, as he stepped further into her room. "I brought back that slayer, didn't I?"

"This isn't a discussion." Buffy dragged out an empty duffel bag from underneath her bed, throwing it onto the comforter. "I'm going and you're both staying. End of story."

"Fine." Dawn stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest, fixing her sister with a pointed look, her blue eyes narrowing into tiny slits. "Then I'm telling Giles."

"Nice try, but Giles isn't exactly the boss of me anymore. Where I go and what I do-"

"Yeah, and maybe this is all a trap. Did you ever think of that?"

"Or _maybe_ Angel just needs my help," she retorted, growing increasingly tired of the repetitive bantering session that had ensued.

"Oh, like I haven't heard that excuse before. You just want to see him."

"What are you, five? There is absolutely nothing between us anymore, and even if there were, it wouldn't change anything. Friends help each other out. It's what they do."

"Can you say hi for me?" Andrew interjected brightly.

Buffy merely rolled her eyes, but a slow smile was creeping up over her pretty face in spite of herself, succinctly confirming his request with a single nod. "I will."

"And tell Sp- I mean..." He stopped, rather clumsily catching himself before he spilled some fairly big beans, and succeeded in opening a whole other can of worms in the process. Spike wanted him to keep quiet and he was going to honor that. Although, on second thought, the idea of a very, very angry Buffy wasn't too appealing, either, and he was incredibly thankful that the vampire had such excellent reflexes- not to mention a piercing stare, extremely chiseled cheekbones, and...he was getting awfully carried away again.

"Andrew?" she brought forth, raising a perplexed eyebrow.

"Hmm? Oh, um...have a nice trip!" he clarified, giving her a little wave. "May the Force be with you."

"What happened to begging and pleading?" Dawn queried, obviously annoyed that the former member of the Trio had caved so fast under pressure and without a moment's notice. "Before you were all-"

"Patience, young grasshopper."

"Please," she scoffed. "You guys know this is going to be dangerous. When is it ever _not_ dangerous?"

"I'll call as soon as I get there," Buffy promised, as she lifted the rather unflattering marble cherub statue situated atop her nightstand, carefully scooping up the handful of bills from beneath its hollow base and safely placing them within the comfort of the inner pocket of her duffel bag. "And hey, if it's a false alarm, then I'll do a little catching up. No big, right?"

"Yes, it's very big," Dawn supplied, "because it's just so typical. I mean you always do this."

"I'll call," she said again, "and that's all you're gonna get right now, because I have to get dressed. Out. Both of you."

"I don't like it," the young girl grumbled, as she reluctantly followed Andrew into the spacious living room, scrunching her nose in blatant disgust while she moved one of his shirts out of the way and threw her slender frame down upon the cushions of the threadbare sofa. She leisurely propped her pink slippers up upon the cluttered coffee table and stretched out her long legs.

"Yeah, I sort of got that the first time," he offered somewhat uncomfortably.

"It's just so unfair."

"I know, and I meant to wash it, I swear."

"Um...I was talking about Buffy going to LA," she answered, shaking her head in bafflement as she discerned that he was, to some extent, still embarrassed about the prospect of leaving his dirty laundry laying around in an apartment he shared with two women. She didn't have the heart to tell him she would have been so much more grossed out with the situation if he wasn't such a big, endearing formerly evil goof who had helped them save the world from a bunch of uber-vamps back in Sunnydale. Well, what was left of Sunnydale, at any rate. The showdown with the First Evil had basically wiped it clean off the map. Literally.

"Hey, maybe we could round up the cavalry and send them in as backup."

"We don't even know what we're supposed to be fighting, Andrew."

"So? That doesn't mean we can't still try and do something. Buffy's too proud to say it, but I bet the Slayer of the Vampyres needs our help."

"Buffy needs you to behave yourself and stay out of harm's way while she's gone," she audibly declared as she emerged from her bedroom clothed in the same white turtleneck sweater and blue jeans she'd laid out prior to packing, her long, blonde hair lazily pulled back in a messy ponytail. The duffel bag was slung loosely over her right shoulder, and her free hand was holding two stakes and a miniscule vial of holy water, which she nimbly set down on the same coffee table still occupied by Dawn's slippered covered feet. "I don't need the two of you getting into trouble while I'm hundreds of miles away. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Andrew complied.

"Dawn?"

"Whatever. I mean it's not like you're giving me much of choice, is it? You're still going to go, regardless of what I say, so-"

"So you've already decided you're gonna spend the entire day moping about it. Good. Great. I'll send you a postcard."

"I want to, but I didn't say I was _going_ to," she deduced, shrugging. "Just...can you please try and make it back in one piece? I don't want to have to tell the others anything using the words fighting, battle or apocalypse if you should go and buy it twenty-four hours from now."

"Gee, that sounds more like the sister I know and love."

"Watch your back, okay?" Dawn lifted herself up off of the sofa, and headed over to the kitchen where she pulled open the fridge, doing her utmost best to feign interest while she appeared to stare at nothing in particular, uttering a rather faint sigh. "I guess I'll be here watering the plants you don't have."

"Ye of so little faith," Andrew proclaimed in disappointment, as he turned from Dawn to Buffy. "Don't worry, I'll try and turn her frown upside down. In the meantime, though...can I have a hug?"


	2. Chapter 1: Surprise

Chapter One: Surprise

_"Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise."_  
- Alice Walker

_Los Angeles, California_

Darkness had already began blanketing the familiar city in shadow as Buffy Summers tiredly made her way into the waiting comfort of the taxi she'd successfully hailed after her flight promptly touched down and landed at the gates of the wildly spacious airport, vigorously hauling her duffel bag into the back seat with her. She inwardly cringed at the sight of the empty red paper coffee cup haphazardly rolling around on the floor with a loosely crumpled candy bar wrapper, but managed to provide the driver with a series of fairly accurate directions that would take him straight to the old stomping grounds of the massive Hyperion.

Once she was there, however, she would basically be winging it.

She had also pretty much resigned herself to the fact that the possibility of one of the locals offering to lend any assistance to her strange predicament was basically slim to none. She figured she had a much better chance of finding herself possessed by a big, scaly demon.

She could handle demons. Demons were the least of her worries. She just wasn't so sure the same could be said for former lovers with an extensive and painful history attached. Her last encounter with Angel in Sunnydale was rather pathetically reduced to talk of cookie dough analogies and whether or not she considered Spike boyfriend material. Hardly the kind of stuff romantic dreams were made of.

Spike. God, his name still brought back so much.

_"I love you."_

_"No, you don't. But thanks for saying it."_

There were probably about a zillion feelings left unresolved that day, and whenever she replayed all of those ridiculously complicated details in stunningly blinding visuals with surround sound, part of her kept wondering why she hadn't tried to smack just the smallest bit of sense into him before he'd gone and sacrificed himself for the greater good. She meant every word in that surprisingly brave declaration, and had literally worn her heart on her sleeve as she'd poured out her soul to him. But he hadn't believed her. Considering everything they'd been through together, she'd expected a vastly different response.

At that moment, it didn't matter if she would've been able to have had any kind of a life with him. She'd already fallen completely head over heels for the man he'd become, and what consequences had remained seemed utterly irrelevant at that point in time.

It was stupid of her to continue rehashing what couldn't be changed. She knew it, and she also had the slightest inkling he would've most likely agreed with that astute assessment if he could see her right this very minute. It was better not to even go there.

_"A hundred plus years and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of. You. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say I love you, it's not 'cuz I want you, or 'cuz I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you and I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy."_

Was it wrong that she just couldn't help it?

Maybe Dawn was right. Maybe she should have stayed in Italy where all of the despair and resentment couldn't taint or touch her. She was actually happy with her life. She wasn't the only slayer doing her part to defend and protect mankind anymore, and she didn't owe anyone anything. She was free. The weight of the world no longer resided solely on her shoulders.

But underneath it all, there remained a strong need to still try and set things right- which is why she assumed she somehow felt strangely obligated to seek out Angel the second trouble had started to brew and rear its ugly something or other again. Spike was gone. But it didn't mean she had to sit back and let the same fate befall the other vampire with a soul. She wasn't going to lose both of them.

"Miss? Miss, we're here."

Buffy's head snapped up and out of the brief reverie, her green eyes meeting a set of brown ones that were currently grilling her with obvious impatience. Her fingers absentmindedly began to toy with the strap on her duffel bag as she spared a single glance out of the dirty window of the vehicle, the repugnant grime grossly illuminated by the glow of a nearby streetlamp. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, we're _here_," the cab driver repeated, notably aggravated by his customer's sudden memory lapse. He draped his arm leisurely across the passenger seat, as he strained to get a better glimpse of her in the back. "Look, lady, you gave me specific instructions and I followed them down to the letter. So if it's all the same to you, it'd be nice if you lost the damsel in distress routine, paid me what I'm worth, and got your ass out of my cab. Comprende?"

Her first impulse was to show him exactly what a so-called damsel in distress was fully capable of, thereby turning his dim-witted little theory upside down on its equally dim-witted head, but her pressing agenda more or less intervened and canceled out that all too appealing option entirely. Instead, she fished through the pocket of her jeans for the required fare, swiftly placing the crumpled bills into the palm of his waiting hand. "Great, thanks."

She opened up the door and let herself out, slamming it shut behind her, as she arduously slung her bag over her right shoulder. The filthy vehicle angrily sped away into the murky black, puffing out a horrific cloud of smoke in its wake, and very nearly came into direct contact with an innocent bystander who was currently in the process of crossing the street. A string of obscenities were hollered in retaliation, and the pedestrian followed up his own comeback with an exceedingly predictable, yet priceless one finger salute, causing Buffy to simply roll her eyes in response. Los Angeles certainly hadn't changed since the last time she was here, and in a way it was almost refreshing to witness the all too familiar absurdity of the beloved city.

She had also reached the conclusion that she was practically starving following her incredibly lengthy flight, and thought about taking a break in her depleting quest to suss out a decent restaurant that wouldn't mind spending a boatload of her cash. It would also give her a chance to use her cell and call Dawn. At this rate, her sister had already confiscated the apartment phone from Andrew and was holding it hostage without bothering to demand a potential amount for ransom. The only cell they shared between them would be used for emergencies only, and as it stood at present, she figured her situation more than fit the bill and qualified in that particular instance.

Buffy had only started to turn the corner at a fairly deserted intersection when she sensed that she was being followed. It hadn't taken long, and it was something she'd already been anticipating upon her arrival. She was knee deep in the breeding grounds of whatever nasties were out and about, and the best way to deal with that minor setback was to corner it, capture it, and pump it for as much information as she could glean in order to ascertain Angel's relocated whereabouts. Her odds were somewhere in the ballpark of fifty-fifty, and it was a hell of a lot more promising than what she'd initially stepped off the plane with.

She nonchalantly strolled around to the back of a dilapidated building where mounds of graffiti had set up shop and claimed permanent residence in a rather weak attempt of what might be construed as art, and set her duffel down in silence upon the cracked pavement. It never got old, and she was amazed that after all these years, her rigorous approach hadn't yet worn out its impeccable welcome. She took a calculated breath and patiently waited, carefully flattening her body so that she lay prone against the rundown brick establishment, her right hand forming a tight fist at her side. The footsteps were becoming more pronounced with each passing second, and when she was absolutely sure she was only mere inches from her target, she rapidly swung out and felt her hand roughly connect with skin.

Skin that was in dire need of a facial.

Her mystery attacker was definitely of the demon variety, and as far as demons went, there was no way this one could have been mistaken as anything remotely resembling cuddly. His eyes were a sharp, piercing shade of red, instantly zeroing in on her with nothing but malicious intent, moving to savagely backhand her across the face and sending her sprawling a good ten feet across the vacant lot. His nose was pretty much non-existent, and any teeth he had left were composed of long, pointy shards that bared themselves in an ominous grin. His ears were strikingly elfin shaped in appearance, and his countenance seemed to be the victim of what she unanimously deemed had to be the absolute worst breakout in history.

Buffy shook her head and slowly began to pick herself up off of the ground as she struggled to recover from the unexpected blow, doing her utmost best to effectively feign complete and total ignorance regarding the excruciating pain that was creeping up into her left cheekbone. If she showed him even a moment of weakness, she was basically toast, and it wouldn't exactly be doing her any favors when literally everything was stacked against her. There had to be a way to outsmart him and beat him at his own game- which, for reasons she could never explain, only seemed to consist of stalking and hitting people as hard as he could. It was the typical M.O. of just about every demon she'd ever encountered, minus the ones who got their kicks from ritual sacrifice.

"Okay, I guess I'm gonna be doing this the hard way," she murmured.

"Slayer," he growled in return.

"Oh, great, so we'll be on a first name basis. Goody. You know, you might want to stop with the punching for a minute and tell me yours." She began to circle him, determined not to let her guard up again, as she kept him squarely in her field of vision and diligently tracked his movements. "Especially now that we've entertained the thought of becoming such chummy fighting buddies and all. C'mon, it's only fair, isn't it?"

"D'Korr," came the snarling reply. "I answer only to D'Hoffryn."

"Wow, then I guess it sucks to be you. I mean, no offense or anything, but D'Hoffryn doesn't exactly strike fear in the hearts of, well..._anyone_ anymore. At least not after you've taken on The First Evil up close and personal and kicked its transparent ass. But, hey. Points for effort, right?"

"He says you die," D'Korr announced.

"Gee, that's original." She charged him, delivering a solid roundhouse kick to his solar plexus. "You might want to try using it on somebody that's never heard it before." And she had. When D'Hoffryn was sending assassins after Anya countermanding the outcome of her frat house slaughter and Halfrek's unforeseen demise, a demon matching D'Korr's description endured a bit of a beating from an ensouled Spike and was left alive and in a decent amount of pain when the vampire fled the scene. She remembered how he and Anya had argued about the pointless encounter in her basement, thus propelling Buffy to up the stakes a bit and present him with the daunting task of reclaiming the edge he'd lost when he'd returned to Sunnydale a changed man. Needless to say, it had worked. Unfortunately, the timing had been a little off, as D'Korr was even now still alive and irritating the heck out of her.

He stumbled slightly from the impact, but managed to retain his balance, reciprocating the attack by following through with a vigorous punch that slammed right into her jaw. "You can't stop it. What is, will always be. It's coming."

"Can't a girl just visit her old boyfriend in peace? What's with the apocalyptic third degree?" She jammed the palm of her hand up into his nose, following it up by sharply throwing out a foot, and dexterously knocking his own feet clear out from under him. He met the ground roughly and predictably face first, letting out a fairly loud and anguished grunt in the process. "I mean, is it too much to ask? I'm hungry, I'm tired, I've been flying for about fourteen hours, and I'm really cranky. You _really_ don't want to get on my bad side. This won't end well."

D'Korr clutched his nose in agony, sputtering a string of curses at her, while he achingly curled himself into the fetal position. His battered body steadily rocked itself back and forth, and judging by the puddle of blood that was coagulating around him, she suspected she'd also succeeded in breaking his sorry excuse for a nose as well. "The end is near," he rasped. "The events are already in motion. They've seen to it, Slayer."

"They?" she echoed, faintly distracted by the cryptic bouts of information. Given the circumstances, she very nearly repented and reconsidered letting him live on account of possibly working him into forcefully spilling whatever other nifty secrets he might have garnered from his fellow baddies. There could be torture involved, and as she knew well from experience, torture also presented possibilities. Besides, sometimes it was just really, really fun. "Who's they?"

"I answer only to D'Hoffryn," he slowly reiterated.

"Okay, we're gonna try this one more time," she stated, the impatience in her voice quite evident. "Just so we have an understanding here, I happen to have some nice pointy weapons in my bag over there and I'm not afraid to use them. Granted, they'd probably be put to much better use on a couple of mean old vamps, but since we're gonna be playing a little game of show and tell, I figure they'll be more than effective in getting the job done with you." She calmly strolled back over to where her duffel lay slumped on its side a short distance away, and bent down to pull open the zipper, fervently drawing out two wooden stakes. "Don't you?"

"You're too late."

Buffy groaned, rounding on him with each piece of carved wood in tow, the one in her right hand poised and ready to strike. "Oh, enough with the-"

But she found herself brutally cut off, when she clumsily collided with what were apparently victims of some sort of high speed chase, as bodies of undetermined origin whizzed frantically by and directly invaded her path, inadvertently shoving her aside and sending her careening into the brick wall of the neglected edifice. She hit it with a piercingly loud crack and knew her bones were going to be dead sore in the morning. And speaking of morning, she wished it would just hurry up and get here, because her remaining strength was greatly becoming an afterthought.

When she finally managed to get an unhampered view of the landscape again, she saw that her clear line of vision had involuntarily placed her right in the middle of what could only be described as an all-out war zone of heavy demonic proportions. Apparently, D'Annoying had backup. Lots and lots of backup.

Before she could move, she felt herself being inexorably ambushed by her injured foe, and was reluctantly spiraling headfirst into the battle waging on around her.

There were at least ten of them. She was outnumbered and her energy was waning. Her quip to D'Korr about it not ending well was pretty much right on target now. She'd recklessly underestimated her odds, and her snappy comeback wasn't exactly holding any water in this round- cleverly switching sides, turning the tables, and leaving nothing in her favor. In short, she was utterly screwed.

It wasn't until she caught sight of a wildly familiar face that her spirits suddenly lifted, and it propelled her to carry on amongst the discord, her hands tightening around D'Korr's head as she twisted and heard the profusely sharp crack of his neck. The demon tumbled lifelessly to the concrete below, and Buffy dove into what remained of the fight, throwing more punches and kicks and flat out going to town on the monsters closing in on her.

A woman with strands of blue woven throughout her long, dark hair- who she naturally presumed must be the infamous Illyria, was holding her own with hardly any effort at all next to Angel, and the slayer was convinced D'Hoffryn's guy must have separated from the pack and sought her out within close range. That only meant one thing. Angel's new hangout was definitely _somewhere_ in the ballpark of five miles, give or take, and D'Hoffryn's so-called vendetta should have long since faded into obscurity. There was no logical reason for him to rule a city like Los Angeles when he was president of his very own fan club elsewhere.

The worst evil imaginable had already failed in taking out its shiny little marks, and taking into account the ramifications of the aftermath, both the First and the Senior Partners should have been stuck in various corners of the globe nursing broken egos and sucking their puny little thumbs. She decided to add in crying like great big babies, too, just for the heck of it. But she somehow gauged it was much more than just vengeance that drove Anya's old mentor. As powerful as he was, he could have easily hired any one of his girls to take care of it for him. He reigned in some lame hell dimension called Arashmahaar, and it was safe to assume it wasn't full of rainbows, moon beams, puppies, or kittens. Sending the same kind of assassins he'd sent after Anya was mere child's play compared to what he was truly capable of. So why now?

It was on Buffy's mind even as the herd of demons was beginning to thin out around her, and when she finished off her latest monstrosity with a stake to the chest, she quietly bemoaned the fact that ashes unfortunately need not apply in this particular scenario. But it was the only weapon she currently had on her person, and hey, a girl had to improvise when the situation called for it, especially if it meant her life would start flashing before her eyes.

When she felt a hand clamp down upon her shoulder, the impact sent her adrenaline into overdrive, and she didn't think. Instead, she vehemently rounded on the culprit with the second stake visible in her grasp, irritably shoving him as hard as she could and callously slapping his back up against the cold brick, holding the weapon up to his throat. She earned a grunt in response and smiled. Maybe she could persuade this one to talk. She needed answers, and she was more than fed up with waiting at this point. She wanted the details in fine print.

But the minute she went and met the impossibly vivid blue eyes of her attacker, her entire world came to a screeching, blinding halt and irrevocably shattered her right to the core.

She had no words. And for the first time in her life, she found herself unable to string a single coherent thought together. Her brain felt like it was a great big pile of incomprehensible mush.

"Buffy." It was simple and it was direct. Only to her, nothing about him was ever simple, let alone direct.

The British accent and the bleached blonde hair.

The prominent scar slanted across his left eyebrow, the full lips, and the generous curve of each of those beautifully sculpted cheekbones.

That long, black coat.

He couldn't be real. He shouldn't be real. _This_ wasn't real.

Maybe she hadn't left Italy after all. Maybe she was still tucked away in the safety of her own bed and had started suffering from horrible hallucinations brought on by another Glarghk Guhl Kashmas'nik. At the moment, the possibilities seemed endless.

She removed the stake from his throat, and slowly began lowering her arms, her brows knit together in mass confusion. He tilted his head to the side, his long lashes surveying her with immense curiosity and equal parts bewilderment, as he hesitantly advanced towards her. His right eye was black and blue, and his left cheek was marred by a long, shallow cut, his jaw sporting some minor bruising. His hair had a slight wave to it, as some curls subtly poked out from beneath his hair gel, refusing to be tamed. He appeared slightly gaunter in appearance, but it did nothing to detract from the dangerous and devilish charm he carried with him in spades, and she suspected that battle he'd been involved in with Angel and company prior to this had likely taken a lot out of him.

There hadn't been any news of his return. Not a shred of evidence to lend any credibility that the vampire standing in front of her hadn't stayed a pile of dust back in Sunnydale.

"Buffy." There it was again. Her name. His voice had risen itself an octave, and she detected a small amount of uncertainty in it as he tentatively took another step in her direction, his worn black combat boots coming to a halt when he noticed her retreating just a fraction of an inch.

"Spike?" Her own voice sounded hoarse and hollow, and she felt as if she were suddenly straining to be heard.

"Are you all right, Slayer?" He contemplated it for just a moment, before he bravely extended a hand toward her arm, but wasn't at all surprised when she foresaw the gesture and instinctively yanked it out of his reach.

"Am I-" She cut herself off, laughing ridiculously, almost maniacally. "Am _I_ all right?" She impetuously pointed an accusing index finger at him. "You're...you're supposed to be dead, you idiot."

"S'pose I was," he acknowledged, nodding, seemingly unbothered and strangely calm, considering. "Long story, love. Most of which involves a pesky amulet and a box full of air." He shrugged somewhat indecisively. "Don't wager I can top an exit like that again. Not entirely sure I'd want to. Still not big on the whole bursting into flames bit."

"You died, you were dead..." It was becoming very hard for her to breath.

"I did. I was. Long story," he repeated. "If you're up for it, maybe we could-"

"You son of a bitch." She didn't even bother to take into account the injuries he'd already sustained that evening, ardently letting her fist fly as she rammed it straight into his face, the sheer force of the punch packing quite the wallop.

He clumsily tumbled backwards and landed hard on his butt, a vague recollection of a similar occurrence deliriously invading his thoughts, while he attempted to unsuccessfully nurse his battered cheekbone and did his utmost best to assess the damage done despite the throbbing ache. There was also the question of trying to preserve what dignity he had left in the process.

Buffy tenuously rolled her shoulders, picked up her bag, and slung the strap across her chest, giving him one final look of contempt before she made her way over to Angel. The fight was clearly over, and there were a lot of demons making with the deadness all around her, but all she could think about, all she could _feel_, were a pair of astonishingly blue eyes burning directly into the back of her head as she strode away from him, leaving the vampire sitting helplessly behind her on pavement that currently reeked of the recently demonically departed.

"Bloody hell. Guess I deserved that," Spike mumbled to no one in particular as he began the daunting task of lifting himself up, lightly gritting his teeth in frustration. Truth be told, it had taken all the restraint in the world not to grovel at her feet and beg for complete and utter forgiveness, but he never did come up with a valid, yet inanely heroic excuse to present to her as to why he was back, or why his flesh hadn't stayed burnt to a tasty crisp in a fiery pit of uber-vamps and evil running amok after the Hellmouth had closed in Sunnydale. He had more or less surmised that whatever he said or did would just make matters worse.

Either way, Andrew had kept his word. The ponce.

While that startling admission only served to further convince him that there was hope for the boy yet, it did nothing to mend what was so obviously broken with Buffy.

Buffy. Seeing her as a figment of his imagination was one thing. Seeing her standing right there in front of him where it would be so easy to reach out and touch her had been another.

She'd made it pretty apparent she wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. If his heart had been beating, he was sure it would be on the verge of breaking into a million pieces right about now.

Because, damn him, he was still wildly, passionately, and stupidly in love with her.

He'd seen the good and the bad, and he would always want it all. The whole Buffy package and all of the baggage that came with it. Not that he ever thought he genuinely had a shot in Hell anymore, or well...ever. For the better part of his re-corporealized existence following the destruction of Sunnyhell, he was sure he was at least seventy-five percent there with moving on. Leave it to her to throw a stake in it and disrupt his plans concerning the remaining twenty-five percent.

Bugger this.

He dusted off his coat, huffing out a rather unnecessary sigh. "Right. So, later with the talking then."

"I'm not quite sure why, but I feel compelled to act on a strange urge to laugh uncontrollably at the small one's miraculous ability to have her way with you."

Spike turned, cocking an inquisitive eyebrow at Illyria, who had somehow managed to avoid being smashed into a pulp by their unfriendly resident baddies, and had emerged from the fight unscathed. Big Blue usually had something to say about everything, so he figured he might as well hear her out. "What's that you're on about?"

"The small, blonde one. You share a history with her," she stated rather curiously, as she sized up the slayer from where she stood with hands glued to her hips, animatedly engaged in conversation with Angel. Buffy's eyes suddenly lit up, and it was almost as if her entire demeanor had engaged itself in a complete one hundred and eighty degree turnaround, a clear indication of overwhelming, hard to contain, hills-are-alive happiness. A kind of happiness Spike failed to detect prior to getting his lights ruthlessly punched out by hers truly not even five minutes ago.

"_Yeah_," he responded impatiently, waiting a beat. "What of it?"

"You decline to accept what is gone and wish to rekindle it. Should you choose to pursue such a perilous journey, nothing good will come of it."

"Oh, sod off. You know, contrary to your apparent self-involved world view, Little Shiva, I don't particularly like havin' you in my head. In fact-"

"Spike!"

He registered what sounded a lot like a rather pissed off Angel on his radar, and as he aversely turned his head towards the other vampire in lucent acknowledgement, he was unable to resist professing a slight smirk on behalf of his comrade's noticeable discomfort. "Peaches."

"I'm taking Buffy back to my place," Angel advised, intentionally choosing to ignore the nonsensical jab of a nickname, as he effortlessly hoisted her duffel bag over his shoulder. "She has some information you might be privy to, and if tonight was any indication, this wasn't a random attack."

"Well, I hate to be the one to burst your broodsome bubble, mate, but I kind of already got that part. Both parts, actually. So if it's all the same to you, I think I'll just be on my merry way and call it an early night." Spike flippantly waved a hand in front of him, idly dismissing and outright refusing the invitation altogether. "If you're not otherwise occupied waiting for the cookie dough to rise, I'm sure you can fill me in in the morning."

"Spike, this is serious."

"So is the fact that I've got some bones that need mending," he tossed back out of sheer frustration. "Can't exactly keep throwin' myself in the ring like that now, can I? We've both survived a hell of a lot worse than this, and you know it."

"Maybe I should just check into a hotel or something," Buffy interjected somewhat awkwardly, intentionally keeping her gaze trained between Angel and Illyria, as she continued to ignore Spike completely. But what she tried to shake, and yet couldn't manage to break free of and bypass, was the peculiar way in which Illyria almost appeared to be dissecting every single inch of her. It was becoming considerably unnerving, and a part of her almost _wanted_ to focus on Spike right now, if only to take the totally creepy vibey edge off of it. "It's getting late, and I don't want to be super clingy Buffy, so I think-"

"Are you hungry?" Angel suddenly asked, seemingly realizing for the first time how long it must have taken her to arrive in the city, his stance on the matter suddenly going from distressed to soft and rather apologetic, his brown eyes projecting a kind of warmth. "There's a diner a few miles from here, and it's open late. I could buy you dinner."

"Rain check?" she prompted. "I mean, it's not that I don't want to. It's great to see you, it really is. I just...it's just...I'm not too sure how I feel about doing the whole imposing on you thing, and I still need to call Dawn yet to let her know I'm okay. Plus, hey, room service, a shower, and a nice comfy bed. Can't beat that, right? Not that your offer was of the bad or anything, but I think it'd be better if I was alone right now. At least for a little while. We can discuss whatever needs discussing tomorrow."

He slowly nodded, understanding her discretion as he fished around within the interior of his coat, withdrawing a small rectangular white card and holding it between his index finger and his thumb. He extended it toward her, blatantly urging her to take it. "Here. This is where I'm staying and the number you can reach me at."

She grinned, sticking it into the back pocket of her jeans. "You know, this might have been just a _little_ more helpful if I'd had it when I was in Rome."

"Yeah, well in light of recent events, I don't exactly advertise anymore," Angel explained, matching her grin, and outright refusing to speak of the law firm that should not be named- especially in a badly lit alleyway with darkness closing in on them from every end. "But if the world happens to be in peril, I'm still your guy."

"Good to know." It was then that she made the profoundly foolish mistake of glancing up and to her right, where Spike remained standing a respectable amount of feet away, markedly preferring to maintain what he surmised would be the required distance needed between them. But he was gazing at her so intently, almost wistfully, that she was more than just a little rattled by the impact it was starting to have on her. She grudgingly tore herself away from his piercing stare, mumbled her goodbyes, and hurriedly went and reclaimed her duffel from Angel.

It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 2: Pieces

Chapter Two: Pieces

_"Arrange whatever pieces come your way."_  
- Virginia Woolf

_But if the world happens to be in peril, I'm still your guy._

Pfft. He'd like to think so, wouldn't he? He was even severely lacking in the vision department lately. Probably didn't even get one tonight. A certain slayer's arrival was solid proof of that.

But Angel's words continued to echo rather loudly in Spike's head in spite of evidence pointing to the contrary, and he angrily slammed the door to his apartment shut behind him, arbitrarily flinging his leather duster across the back of the sofa. Captain Forehead was still trying to lay claim to being the only vampire with a soul to save the sodding world from terrible danger. They'd already fought side by side more times than he could count, and the great poofter actually wanted to come out of this on top- if only to please the likes of a former flame.

And it wasn't just any former flame. It was _Buffy_.

The same Buffy he should have tried to contact as soon as he was corporeal again. Instead, he had gone around for months putting it off like a self-centered jerk. There was no one to blame for his actions but himself. He knew it, he was well aware of it, and yet he would probably always wish tonight had turned out much differently. She might as well be carrying on like he didn't even exist, and he supposed that was likely all for the best, though his method of convincing himself could've certainly used some work in that department.

God, he'd missed her.

Spike yanked his shirt over his head, wincing slightly from the bruising he'd obviously incurred upon his back as a result of the unexpected demonic brawl they'd encountered. A demonic brawl that had oddly coincided and been incited with Buffy's presence. If he actually felt like having a civilized conversation with the git tomorrow, maybe he would have enough sense to run it by him. Otherwise, he would do just as well to keep that information to himself. At least for now.

He collapsed into one of the flimsy chairs that occupied a rather miniscule table propped up near an overly basic kitchen, slowly untying and pulling off his black boots as he spared a brief glance at the white refrigerator positioned against the far wall. After he caught a shower and cleaned up some, he was going to grab however many bottles of beer remained and drink himself clear into obscurity. That, and he could have also sworn he had an unopened pack of smokes lying around the place somewhere. Something that had been clumsily stashed away for a rainy day. It had been awhile- a good _long_ while since he'd indulged in the addictive habit, but he was suddenly feeling a strong need to eradicate whatever thoughts had invaded and consumed his mind the minute his eyes had met hers in that alleyway.

Prior to making her grand entrance tonight, Spike would bet any decent wad of cash that she was spending whatever free time she had in Italy shagging The Immortal blind. Not that any of it actually mattered to him anymore. After all, he was still dead set on moving on. Well, maybe not the dead part, because he'd already mastered that over a hundred years ago. But the moving on part was currently alive and kicking. Any amount of groveling that needed to be done should rightfully commence within the privacy of his own home.

He professed a shrug of indifference, seemingly addressing some unspoken, unresolved issue, and painstakingly lifted his tired frame up off of the chair, ineptly tossing his boots by the foot of the bed. They tumbled over in a careless heap while he went and busied himself with slipping out of his worn pair of jeans, only just registering the fact that they were badly doused with traces of demon blood. The same blood that currently stained his hands a faint shade of red. He inspected his fingers somewhat guiltily, ashamed to admit that he'd been much too preoccupied to wash it off.

But an oddly persistent pounding on his door impetuously snapped him out of his wearisome deliberations, and caught him entirely off guard, causing Spike to curse loudly to himself in irritation as he began awkwardly fumbling to slide on the nearest pair of available pants. He settled for the loose gray sweats that were casually draped across the top of his low, unadorned dresser, which he'd grown exceedingly fond of when he wasn't idling away his sleeping hours in the nude. They would just have to do until he was able to find a more suitable replacement.

He couldn't be bothered with lacing up his boots for a second time that day, so he simply padded across the carpet completely barefoot, and was utterly dumbfounded when he turned the knob and discovered the last person he expected to see standing on the other side. Her duffel bag was sitting at her feet, and her long, blonde hair spilled out in waves across her shoulders, her torn sweater and jeans falling victim to the same fate that his own clothes had just suffered. Spike purposely kept his face unreadable, as if trying to show her he was totally unaffected by her decision to barge in on him unannounced and without precedent.

Bollocks. He should have been able to smell her.

"Lose the card your sweetie bear gave you?" He was reaching with that statement, and he knew it. Even if she had and even if it were true, he knew that it solved absolutely nothing and failed to explain exactly why she was following him home when she was previously against an iota of conversation and so very, very willing to pound his face into the dirt at the first opportunity she got. Especially after he'd tried to reason with her in a perfectly...well, a perfectly _reasonable_ fashion.

"No." Her voice came out a strained sort of whisper, as she valiantly forced herself to meet those deeply invasive blues head on, a soft blush slowly creeping up over her cheeks before she could stop it. "I just- I couldn't leave it the way I left it back there. I...I mean between you and me. Look, I realize that what I did wasn't...I get that. I do. But you have to understand that I wasn't really in the loop on this whole coming-back-in-a-magic-box-full-of-air thing. You didn't call and you didn't write. You didn't even _try_ to see me. You just decided to pretend like the past few years didn't even happen. Well, they happened, and we shared them, and guess what? They still happened! How can you be so...so- okay, you know what? Maybe I don't actually deserve an answer to that, because it would mean that I sounded like I actually cared." A single tear wound its way down her face before she could stop it, and she angrily took a swipe at it, furious with herself for succumbing to such an inconsequential outburst. But another part of her was compelled to believe it was long overdue. "God, you thought so little of me that it didn't even occur to you that _I_ might want to see _you_? Do you have any idea what I've been...you really don't, do you?"

"S'pose Andrew didn't mention the little visit Angel and I made to Italy then," he mentioned quietly, almost as an addendum, pretty much confirming what he suspected to be the case from the start. "Talked to the little boy when he was sent to retrieve your slayer, too, and what a fun ride that was. Got my hands chopped off before they hauled the crazy bint away. Angel said you and your Watcher weren't ready to braid hair with Wolfram and Hart just yet. Said you'd given Andrew orders."

"He's not my Watcher anymore," Buffy swiftly countered, somewhat heatedly, "and since you no longer even work for that stupid Ralph and Hart-"

"Wolfram and Hart," he promptly corrected, a bit too agitated to fully appreciate the humor in her honest mistake.

"What?"

"The law firm," he addressed. "It's Wolfram and Hart, and for your information, I never worked for 'em. _Angel_ was the one who made a deal with the devil. Signed away his right to the Shanshu, too. Not that it makes any difference, of course, but for the most part, I was out there fightin' the good fight alone 'til I agreed to help him and Charlie Boy kick a little demon ass."

"Great, good, whatever. Either way, it's beside the point. This has nothing to do with them, and everything to do with us."

"Didn't you get the memo? There is no us," Spike responded rather inexorably. "And according to you, there never was. We've already been through this, pet. Stop dragging it through the mud, and sing me a new one."

"Hey, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hit you, okay? But it doesn't change what I...how I-" She paused for a couple of seconds, her brows raised in utter bafflement. "You were in Italy? As in _Rome_, Italy? You and Angel? Here? I mean, th-there?" She appeared to be genuinely shocked as she struggled to process that assessment, lagging behind just a fraction on the witty repartee. "_When_?"

"Oh, is your fist sorry, too? Be sure to give it my regards." Spike shook his head, wondering how in the bleeding hell he'd somehow managed to reduce himself to a blithering fool in sparring with her over circumstances that were fundamentally irrelevant. " 'Sides, whatever happened in Rome's over and done with, love. We were there on official business, came looking for you, and Andrew told us you were out dancing the night away with The Immortal. Almost caught a glimpse of you in some fancy little club, too, but that's all it was. A glimpse."

"Andrew said I was doing what with who, and where?"

"Doesn't matter," he retorted simply, shrugging. "Glad you could stop by, though."

"All right, first of all, yes it does so matter, and if you were anywhere in the vicinity, let alone my _apartment_, I would have sensed you. Both of you." She gave him what he assumed was an attempt at a fairly convincing glower, shifting her stance and stubbornly crossing both arms over her chest. "Second, did you seriously think I had no clue that Angel had spies all over the city trying to watch and track my every move? Hello, decoy. Ever heard of one? Some of the girls we've been training could pass from a distance. Third, when did Andrew get so good at keeping secrets, and fourth...what are you still doing here when Angel had to find another demon free hangout spot? Aren't you, like, still under attack or something? Giles talked about some Thorn thingy getting super cranky and wanting you guys out of the way because you pissed them off."

"So that's it then, is it?" he scoffed. "You're here 'cuz you want to interrogate me? Figured as much. Just didn't plan on it being tonight, is all. Again, glad you could stop by."

"Why are you being like this?" she snapped.

"Like what?" Spike murmured, knowing full well what she meant and aiming for denial just the same. But from what he could ascertain, she wasn't seeing, dating, or contemplating cuddling with The Immortal, and Angel wasn't currently seeing dog girl. It didn't take a genius to predict the outcome.

"Like you're trying to push me away."

And there it was.

"Have you called the little bit yet? Might want to tell her you're in town." He briskly rushed to change the subject, which he felt was seemingly becoming unavoidable at this point, and when she showed no indication of a reply he merely bent down and scooped up her duffel for her. He handily tossed it over his right shoulder and gestured her inside, shutting the door behind her once she'd entered- albeit cautiously. He couldn't blame her there. She was entitled to it. "Hired a bird to do a protection spell. Wasn't as good as Red, but nothing'll be able to touch us in here. It's more or less a shield." Spike set the bag down upon the sofa. "Look, I don't have a lot of money, but I can give you enough to get back to your sis. You don't have to worry about payin' me back, and if-"

"I think Angel's in trouble."

He tilted his head to the side, both attentive and somewhat resentful that she was speaking the name so freely again. It was quite the conundrum, really. He continued to actively dislike the other vampire in practically every way possible, yet he was customarily Team Angel when the chips were down and it truly counted. Bugger it. "Is that right? Well, I'll be sure and keep an eye out. You didn't have to come all the way down to Los Angeles to-"

"Yes, I did," Buffy persisted, as she put up a hand to further justify her response, silencing him. "I...really did, because whatever, or _whoever's_ coming? They destroyed it. All of it. I saw it in my dream. There was nothing left, Spike. And the demon? The one I killed before I joined your little party? He said D'Hoffryn sent him."

"D'Hoffryn?" he repeated, rolling his eyes. "And you believed him? D'Hoffryn doesn't even- he's in Arashmahaar. Last I heard, anyway. Don't exactly keep track of these things when you're fightin' it to the death."

"Okay, so maybe it sounds lame when you put it like that. But, oh, hey- he warned us about The First, didn't he? The whole beneath you, devouring thing? He said...he said all good things would come in time. That demon he sent after me was the same one that came after Anya."

"You can't know that."

"He told me he was D'Korr," Buffy interjected pointedly.

"So you two were on a first name basis, eh?" Spike shook his head, refusing to give her any leverage on what were essentially baseless claims of a mind running amok with worry. "Sorry, love, not ringing any bells. But then again, I didn't exactly share tea and crumpets with him now, did I?" He walked over to the refrigerator, reaching in and retrieving one of the many beers he was planning on consuming prior to her arrival, yearning to begin the celebrations just a tad bit ahead of schedule. He twisted the cap off rather fluently, and steadily brought the bottle to his lips, indulging in a good, long swig. "Anyhow, shouldn't you be telling Angel this?"

"You've got blood on your hands."

He almost didn't hear her. Maybe he didn't want to.

But it was spoken with such raw sincerity and conviction that he was starting to question whether or not he ever really had a choice in the matter to begin with. There was just something about her that always seemed to command his utmost attention whenever she happened to be in the same room, and he allowed himself to meet her piercing, yet inquisitive gaze with as much poise as he deemed affable. But the words came out agitated and impassive instead, stripping him of what remained of his attempts at self-control, driving hard and hitting home. "It's not mine."

"Spike."

"Are we done here?" he interceded, prepensely slamming the empty beer bottle onto the kitchen counter with just enough force to rattle the brittle cupboards above. He didn't even feel the two loose shards of brown glass that had deeply embedded themselves within the palm of his hand, but he could smell the strong metallic pull of the blood that was indeed his own now, flooding his nostrils with a pungent allure. He grimaced slightly when the pain started the tumultuous journey of coursing through his veins.

"I just wanted-"

"Don't. Don't do that." His voice was exceedingly clipped as he discreetly kept his injured hand clasped tight around the broken bottle and safely concealed it from her view. "I didn't ask you to come here, Slayer, and we both know it wasn't for me. You want to work with Angel to prevent the next big bad from taking over the world again, _fine_. Have at it, and have a gay old time of it. I'll be sitting this one out."

"So, what? You're suddenly not a champion of the people anymore because you fought a couple of-"

"Four, to be exact, and I was never a champion."

"Excuse me?"

"You're likely forgetting the time your miserable ex tried to bring forth Acathla and put us all in the bloody ground. Or maybe it's what you wanted, seeing as you left your Scoobies high and dry when you fled to Los Angeles to find yourself. Did a bang up job of that, too, didn't you?"

She was strongly contemplating giving him a second black eye. "What gives you the right to assume you know _anything_ about why I did what I did? You weren't- back then you didn't care whether I lived or died, and you skipped town with your girlfriend while I took on Angel all by myself. He was gonna kill me. I had nothing, I had...no one who understood what I was going through, and you're gonna stand there and tell me I shouldn't have done it? I didn't have a choice. Just like I didn't have a choice when I nearly lost and felt compelled to save a sister I was never even supposed to have to begin with. So again, I ask, what the hell gives you the _right_?"

"Buffy."

"No, you know what? I made a mistake coming here tonight. I just thought that-" She shook her head, as if she had reassessed the notion, and instead walked over to reclaim her duffel bag. As she proceeded to sling it across her chest, the strap slipped from the clasp, and it slumped noiselessly at her feet. "Well, I guess I don't know what I thought. But it wasn't this. It was _never_ this. I needed someone to talk to, and given our past history, it really seemed like a no brainer. I guess I was wrong. It won't happen again."

"Oh, come on now, that's-"

"It isn't fair, right?" she threw back at him with as much force as she could muster. "Well, this isn't you! It's not. I know the real you, Spike, and this isn't it."

"Of course it's me," he insisted. "There's no one else here."

"You know that's not what I meant," she altercated, huffing out a breath. "But then again, all you've been doing since I got here is trying to twist my words around. I was so stupid to think I could actually-"

When she stopped rather abruptly mid-sentence, he allowed his blue eyes to gently roam over her face, searching desperately for some sort of answer. It was just one of the many reasons he found it so bloody hard to figure women out. It was safe to assume it would never change. "What? What is it?"

"You're bleeding, and this time it's definitely yours." Before she was entirely conscious of what she was doing, she'd forcibly pried the empty, broken beer bottle from his injured hand, and reached over to cradle it tenderly in both of her own.

He visibly flinched at the sudden contact, but he didn't pull away, allowing her to freely inspect the damage. "Buffy."

"What did you do?" she whispered.

"Doesn't matter, I already did it. It's already done," came his weak reply, as the blood continued to gush out of the open wound, mapping out an untraveled path upon the palm of his hand. Without further warning, he curled his fingers around it and let his hand rest at his side, mentally attempting to drown out the hurt and feign utter disinterest.

"You keep saying that, but I think it does. I think it's always mattered, or you wouldn't be acting this way. If you-"

"It'll heal," Spike countered, as he went over and yanked a small yellow dish cloth off the kitchen counter, dressing it rather clumsily over the cut. He diligently tucked the loose end beneath the fabric he'd already applied and flexed the muscles in his hand despite the intensifying ache. "Which is more than I can say for you, Slayer. You're all on about searchin' for what isn't bloody there anymore. Rip you apart if you let it."

"Oh, and I suppose you're speaking from experience?" It was presented as more of a challenge than anything else, and it was almost as if she were daring him to acknowledge it and accept it as such. She was starting to see she wasn't the only one who wasn't being entirely forthcoming, and while a part of her was prone to giddiness at that enticing thought, the other part was still carefully considering any and all repercussions.

"Hardly the issue here. Look, call the nibblet and then we'll talk about whatever you came here for. But I need a shower first. Not exactly feelin' my best after taking on a round of demons." Without waiting for any kind of a reply, he stalked off in the direction of the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a profoundly loud snap.

Buffy didn't know what was worse. Trying- unsuccessfully, she might add, to get the strangely vivid picture of a wet, naked Spike out of her mind, or contacting her little sister to inform her that Spike was indeed back and alive in the flesh. Well, sort of, anyway. His heart wasn't beating and he was still going all fangy and bumpy in the forehead region, but he was definitely being his usual annoying pain-in-the-ass self again. After yet another internal debate, she decidedly withdrew her cell phone and punched in the phone number to her apartment back home.

"Oh my God, Buffy, is that you?" Dawn Summers, sounding a tad bit too excited for her own good, impatiently invaded the line and just as impatiently awaited an answer. "How was your flight?"

Buffy could hear what appeared to be a muffled voice in the background, and figured Andrew, too, had anxiously been anticipating her updates like a little kid on Christmas morning. The two of them had probably been occupying the same space for hours, just hovering. Her theory hadn't been that far off after all. "Yeah, it's me, Dawnie. I'm here and I'm okay. Didn't exactly get the warmest welcome, but I took care of it."

"Demon?"

"Yeah, of the extremely icky variety. Met up with a few of his friends shortly after that. But listen, that's not why I- I mean I wanted to let you know I'm safe and I saw Angel, and he's good. He's...he's great, actually. We're gonna get together tomorrow and talk shop. He gave me his card and everything." She tiredly rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, exhaustion finally coming close to setting in. She was in need of sleep- like yesterday. If the persistent grumbling of her stomach could just hold off until first light, she'd be set. "But there's...there's something else. Not a _bad_ something else. Just something else. You know, I...I really don't even know how to say it. I didn't even actually believe it at first myself."

She could hear the sound of water running in the bathroom, and there was a faint scrape of what she presumed was Spike roughly yanking the shower curtain closed, evidently his way of venting any of the pent up frustration he'd been contending with. She sincerely hoped that punching holes in the wall was still a long way off yet. But if she knew anything about that temper of his, and she did, she also knew it was already being considered and couldn't be all that far behind. Protection spells didn't cover in-house damage that was initiated by the vampire who occupied it and lived there, regardless of whether he had a soul or not.

"Buffy, are...you all right?"

"Huh?" she echoed, before she remembered her sister was still talking to her, surreptitiously snapping out of her reverie for the second time that day. "Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I- you know what? Never mind. Now that I think about it, it's really not that important. It can wait. Really. I'll...I'll catch you guys later, okay? I've gotta get some rest, and I'm obviously not even making any sense anymore, so I'm just gonna go. If I find out anything, I'll be in touch."

"Are you sure?"

"Totally sure. Just keep an eye on Andrew."

"Why? It's not like he's been doing much since you've been gone," she clarified, sounding entirely bored that the older girl would even entertain the prospect. "Well, there was this little battle reenactment he staged between two of his action figures, all Star Wars like and stuff, but-"

"Not really interested," Buffy added, frantically trying not to get a single visual in her head.

"Gotcha, and just so you know, you'd be proud of me. I completely refused his request to participate."

"I'm sorry, I'm all out of prizes. But hey, the next one in the cereal box? It's all yours."

"Cool, I'll hold you to it."

"You bet." She smiled at the thought, but if her dream was anything resembling some form of truth as to what was to come, she might not even make it home at all. It was best to focus on the now and getting all the details completely sorted out before jumping to insane conclusions that would no doubt lead to paranoia. That was where Angel would prove to be extremely helpful with whatever remaining connections he had in Los Angeles, and since she was on the subject- probably also Spike.

Back to Spike.

She hadn't exactly been telling a great big giant fib when she purposely went out of her way to seek him out tonight, but deep down inside, it was just another rather measly excuse to simply see _him_. Maybe she was just too curious for her own good.

"Buffy?"

"Talk to you tomorrow," she mumbled, still appearing somewhat distracted as she bid her sister farewell and disconnected the call. She didn't remember when her eyes closed, or even the moment she stretched out her legs and drew them up onto the sofa with her, gently propping a hand beneath her head for a makeshift pillow. She was already out like a light.

It was where Spike found her after he emerged from a steam filled bathroom, dressed in a white t-shirt and a clean pair of black jeans, repeatedly running a towel over his wild blonde curls in a poor attempt at trying to tame them. But the sight of Buffy asleep in his apartment literally stopped him cold, and his blue eyes suddenly softened, flickering with what could only be described as both a sense of wonder and pure disbelief.

It wasn't like it was the first time he had seen her so utterly content and willing to shut out a world that constantly surrounded and struggled to overpower her on what was still a daily basis. It wasn't even the first time he'd watched her sleep. The night she'd asked him to stay with her in the abandoned house she'd taken up residence in after her friends had forced her out of the comfort of her own home had admittedly been the best night of his life. He remembered laying there with her cradled safely in his arms and just listening to the sound of her breathing. There had been nothing in that room but the solace they'd chosen to take from one another.

But tonight he was quick to latch onto the fact that she was also entirely vulnerable in her present state, and as perceptive as he usually was to the human condition, he was almost positive there was more in the way of trust than she was presently letting on.

There would always be a certain someone who complicated matters, though, and that someone should be notified of her whereabouts, regardless of how much he preferred the alternative. Careful not to wake her, he disappeared into his bedroom and found his cell, punching in a series of well memorized digits. It rang a good while before the other side eventually reciprocated. "Yeah?"

"It's me," Spike murmured, and immediately regretted it. He was currently toying with the idea of knocking himself exceedingly unconscious, as it would have proved a much more tempting task, but he grudgingly refrained from it. His body was in enough pain as it was, and to add to it could only be asking for even more trouble- not to mention a splitting headache. "Thought you should know that Buffy's stayin' here tonight."

There was a fair amount of static, shuffling around, and an astonishingly long pause that was in all likelihood deliberate before he heard anything. It wasn't like he hadn't already prepared himself for it. The other vampire was rarely ever unpredictable and there were various instances Spike could cite to back that up. In fact, he was almost on the verge of mentally compiling a list in his head.

"Okay, I'll play," Angel acquiesced. "I mean, obviously the joke must be on me, right? We both saw what she did to you in that alleyway. I'd go as far as to say you had a firsthand account. How's that eye doing, by the way? Feeling a little rough around the edges?"

"Not a joke, you ponce. She's _here_."

"So you're actually serious?" he inquired somewhat derisively, as he chuckled. "You know, you never could take no for an answer, could you?"

Spike merely huffed out an unnecessary breath. "Oh, don't get your knickers twisted. It's not like I asked her to. I'm just-"

"You invited her in."

"Well, yeah, you got me there. It's called being hospitable. Maybe you should try it sometime."

"I did," he deadpanned. "Unfortunately, she seems to prefer blondes. What are the odds, huh?"

"I just didn't want you worrying about her and where she might've gone," Spike finished. "She's also been rambling on about D'Hoffryn, dreams and God knows what else. She tell you anything concrete earlier?"

"No, but I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss those ramblings yet. Word on the street is that we might have a new player in town. Maybe D'Hoffryn's got him doing his dirty work. Either way, I've got a contact who thinks one place could be worth checking out tomorrow. Might be a dead end, but we need answers. If we have a little something to go on, we might be able to find out who or what this new player is."

"This place have a name?"

"Madame Florea's."

"A _fortune teller_?" he demanded, unable to hide the apparent displeasure he felt regarding the profession. "Bloody hell, you've got to be kidding me. Have you honestly lost it? On second thought, don't answer that. Maybe we should just start diggin' our own graves instead. It's always been my fondest wish to perish in ash in an apocalypse. Oh, wait, already did it."

"She's a _Romanian_ fortune teller, which is why I need you and Buffy to go there first thing tomorrow. You can take the tunnels."

"What, afraid she'll try and curse you again?"

"You're just loving this, aren't you?"

"Bit too much," Spike agreed, as he grinned.

"So you'll do it?"

"I'll do it, though I don't exactly fancy hearin' about crystal balls and futures and such."

"Who's superstitious now?"

"I'll be sure to put in a bad word for you," Spike quipped, right before he disconnected and chucked the phone onto his bed.

Drusilla had been able to foretell a lot of things, and he hadn't been the least bit squeamish hearing of them, as most would clearly spell out the demise of the slayer- and at the time Spike had clearly still been in the mood for killing that slayer. Now all he wanted to do was keep her safe from whatever was trying to come in. But shields didn't hold forever, no matter how tough, and sooner or later something would bypass the cleverly crafted magic and enter uninvited.

He went back out into his living room, and peeked in on Buffy again, noting with some relief that she didn't appear to have moved an inch since he'd updated Angel on her location. He then pulled his duster free from the back of the sofa where he'd left it and gently draped it over her lithe form, tucking it up and around her shoulders without so much as a stir from her.

Having nothing better to do at the moment, he sat himself down in the nearby empty armchair and watched her sleep again.


	4. Chapter 3: Disclosure

Quick note: vattene = go away

Chapter Three: Disclosure

_"Human salvation demands the divine disclosure of truths surpassing reason."_  
- Thomas Aquinas

_Rome, Italy_

"She's keeping something from us."

Andrew Wells took a colossal bite out of the sandwich that cluttered his plate and chewed thoughtfully, doing his best to bide his time in the hope that not a single speck of nervousness would find its way into his voice as he answered her. He lightly cleared his throat once he'd finally swallowed the concoction and plastered a decisively perplexed expression on his face, his eyes widening ever so slightly. He was unable to fully glimpse it firsthand, but he was sure it would just edge past the realm of inspection. "Really, like what?"

"Well if I knew what it was, do you honestly think I'd be asking you?" Dawn Summers retorted, as she continued her journey of pacing back and forth directly in front of the coffee table, arms placed over her chest. Her brows were furrowed deep in concentration and gave off the impression that she was trying madly to solve the world's greatest mystery- and heck if she knew what that was. She suspected it had something to do with vampires always having perfect hair despite the obvious lack of a reflection. "Something's bugging her, though. She seemed off." She stopped a moment to look at him. "Didn't she seem off?"

"Is this, like, a sister thing?" he guessed, as he shoveled more food into his mouth, quickly averting her challenging gaze. Correction. Her all too _creepy_ gaze that suggested she might start suspecting any minute now. He needed a backup plan, and fast.

"Um, translation please?" she returned, somewhat puzzled.

"I mean...well I just meant that since I'm not related to you guys, I'd probably have no way of knowing." He tossed a quick glance towards the door, keeping it in mind as a potential escape route should the situation call for it- all the while struggling in vain to maintain his nonchalant demeanor. The conversation was most certainly headed in a direction he feared, and he didn't want to have to endure the pain of hair pulling and noogies, or whatever else it was that girls did to guys these days to try and force a confession out of them. He imagined he might even be prone to wetting his pants. "Hey, do you want to go out tonight?"

"Go out?" she scoffed, as if refusing to believe he was actually serious. "On a date? See, I hate to break this to you, Andrew, but you're really not my-"

"Date is a four letter word," he acceded carefully, cutting her off. "I'm not too familiar with it, nor is it the one I was thinking of. More like..._hang_."

"Also a four letter word," Dawn cleared up. "Hang out? Why?"

"Because it's fun?"

"You know, you're acting a little weird, too." She sat herself down beside him on the sofa, fixing him with a pointed stare. "_Weirder_ than usual, at any rate. Did Buffy say anything to you before she left?"

He almost choked on a piece of bread that narrowly missed getting stuck in his throat. "No, nothing at all. You?"

She placed a hand on his shoulder, presenting him with a deeper, more piercing glare. "Andrew."

"You would've already told me," he immediately responded, his voice almost on the verge of cracking. "Got it."

"No. What aren't you telling _me_?"

"Nothing, because there's nothing to tell."

"You'd better spill," she advised. "Just so you're aware, you're officially a terrible liar now. Not that you weren't one before, but this is getting a little ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Look, I swear I don't know anything. Honest." He got up with his empty plate and began to make his way into the kitchen to deposit it into the sink. "Besides, why would she tell me and not you? I'm always the last to know, anyway, and that's because you guys like to keep me in the dark. It's scary there, with no Dragon Ball Z."

"Yeah, but you've been to see Angel before, right? You asked Buffy to say hi for you."

He raised his chin up a bit as if he were extremely proud of the fact. "We're buds. Well, sort of."

"Oh, c'mon. Something else went down that day, didn't it?"

"Yes, my fellow slayers and I took in an unfortunate addition to their party. She was crazy and needed our help. A consequence of Willow's spell coupled with a dark and tainted past. A psychotic slayer of the vampyres."

"Okay, fine. You don't want to talk?" She followed him into the other room, leaning her slender frame against the wooden table and pursing her lips as she proceeded to assess the situation in much greater detail. "Then I guess I'll just have to take matters into my own hands, won't I?"

That stopped him dead in his tracks, and the bowl clattered quite loudly into the sink, the spoon making a painful clanking sound as it reverberated off the hollow porcelain. He turned around slowly to face her, his eyes cowering into tiny slits, desperately trying to maintain his air of absentmindedness but failing miserably. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, knowing full well that a tad bit of his own guilt had finally revealed itself.

"Remember that Yoda action figure with the little light saber? The one that's-"

"Mint in box," Andrew acknowledged.

"Well, you can forget about the mint part, because I'm going to take him out of that box and let Signora Conti's dog have his way with him down the hall. Each and every little part, _including_ the light saber."

He could almost feel his left eye start to twitch, yet he refused to back down, pushing forward and holding his ground just as evenly as she was. "So? I'll just get another one. Nine dollars on Ebay."

"How about the Darth Vader vintage?" she tried. "The collection you said took you more than-"

"Off limits," he snapped, somewhat more viciously than he'd intended, immediately arriving at the very sad conclusion that he was nearly done for. Burnt to a brittle crisp was more like it.

"So we're actually getting somewhere."

"How can we get anywhere when I don't _know_ anything? You'd be destroying valuable merchandise based on a hunch. It's a crime against humanity and Star Wars."

"Yes, but it's for a perfectly valid cause," Dawn insisted. "Trust me, I'm usually very perceptive about these things."

"Then you should have already figured out what it was," he taunted, before slapping a hand over his mouth in error, actively contemplating giving himself a smack of epic proportions on the back of the head.

"Aha!" she yelled before she could stop herself. "See, I knew it. There _is_ something, isn't there? Look, whatever it is, I can handle it, I swear."

Andrew appeared to deliberate in what was clearly a fairly overdramatic fashion, but considering the ramifications of what might happen if he played it any other way, he simply couldn't help it. He'd always possessed a flair for it and he was going to play that ticket for all it was worth. "Angel's dating a werewolf named Nina."

"A _werewolf_?" she repeated. "Get out."

"Or...was dating, I'm not really sure. But it's all true, and well, they could be exes by now, which makes everything I'm telling you void and irrelevant. The last time he was here-"

"He was in Italy?" she squeaked, barely able to contain her excitement, both hands fanning out wildly in front of her. "So that's it. That's what- oh my God, this is big. I mean, this is _really_ huge. When? Why? Does Buffy know? Did he ask about her?"

"He wanted to see her, but she was out." The former Trio member merely shrugged, like it was absolutely nothing to write home about. "He was in Rome on business. Something about heads rolling. Angel isn't really big on the talking and getting in touch with manly emotions thing, which you...already know, so-"

"But he must have told her all about it when she met up with him in Los Angeles, didn't he? I mean, there'd be no reason not to, right? She's with him now and everything's good."

"Probably." He began heading in the direction of his bedroom, taking slow and meticulous steps, careful not to alarm her as he plotted his next course of action. The moment his feet graced the threshold, he hurriedly slammed the door shut in her face and locked it behind him, throwing his back flat against it and breathing a humongous sigh of relief. Despite everything in his power to prevent it, he'd gone and cracked like a hard-boiled egg, and he was convinced he was going to be singing an incredibly sad tune when the second part of his confession eventually surfaced and saw the light of day. He was still clinging to the dim-witted belief that it would prove harder to pry out of him, but his luck was running out faster than that new volumizing bottle of shampoo he'd had every intention of trying before he met an untimely death at the hands of something demonic and hungry.

This was so much worse.

"Andrew!" she hissed, as her fist rapped repetitiously against the wood. "Oh, you little cheat. Come out of there!"

"No!" he shouted back. "Even inanimate objects need protection from the forces of darkness, and you can't have my stuff. Vattene."

"Not until you answer me."

"He promised me he'd take care of it. As a rule, I can't betray a confidence."

Dawn heard what sounded an awful lot like a desk chair being rolled over the rug, assuming it was yet another lame attempt on his part to barricade himself inside and out of her reach. "Who promised? Angel?"

"Not exactly."

"_Not exactly_? Look, if Angel was in Italy on business-"

"He wasn't by himself," came the strained reply. "But that's beside the point, because they're both near and dear to me, and I love those guys."

"Nina was with him?"

"Are you still going to harm Vader?"

"Vader was a villain. He doesn't deserve our sympathy," Dawn confirmed.

"Are you sure you don't want to watch some of the movies to-"

"Who was with Angel, Andrew?"

"Okay, but Buffy can't know that you know. I mean, I know that she obviously knows now, too, but you can't tell her you know, because I'm not supposed to know, either. Well, technically, as it was kind of hard not to when I first saw him in L.A. and he was standing there right in front of me. It was like none of it ever happened and it was the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. A knight in lots of black armor."

"For crying out loud, who is it?!"

"Spike."

_Los Angeles, California_

_Spike_.

If it wasn't for the familiar black duster still covering the length of her petite frame upon the red sofa, Buffy would've been drawing a complete and utter blank regarding her current whereabouts. She shifted slightly and craned her neck to the right, hoping to get a much better glimpse of the apartment, having failed to take in the layout of it last night amid her initial shock. She warily lifted herself into a sitting position, but rather than set the coat aside she instead brought it slowly to her nose and breathed it in, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. It smelled strongly of leather and something that was so very _him_, though it didn't possess the distinct worn in appearance she'd remembered. Still, she suspected it was a pretty close fit because of the time he'd taken to break it in, which in turn told her he was embracing the new just as much as the old these days.

She heard the clomping of boots no less than a minute later, followed by the subtle creaking of the doorknob as it twisted and turned, admitting entrance to the occupant on the other side. Spike immediately stopped dead when he saw her, his blue eyes flashing with what she presumed was outright astonishment. Before she could determine precisely what the motives were behind it, it vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving that gorgeous face expressionless again in its wake. The injuries he'd sustained as a result of the demon confrontation in the alleyway were already fading, and his left hand carried a miniscule brown paper bag with the top folded over, the cut on his hand aptly dressed in gauze. In what was likely an effort to distract from his wounds once again, he summarily held the bag out to her, urging her to take it. "Thought you might be hungry," he added. "Didn't think you'd fancy the idea of sharing a pint over breakfast, so I took the liberty of ordering out." When she only continued to watch him, he placidly shifted from one foot to the other out of mild irritation, suddenly appearing oddly uncomfortable. "Figured you might have scampered, but here you are."

"Here I am," Buffy echoed, as she accepted the bag. "Thanks."

He offered a curt nod in response before he moved to the kitchen table and shrugged out of a black denim jacket, agilely throwing it over a tawdry chair and advancing into the privacy of his bedroom, shifting almost entirely out of viewing range. She suspected it was deliberate on his part, but she really couldn't blame him, as he'd firmly expected her to not be here when he returned. It was easy to see why, yet she couldn't help but feel a twinge of remorse on her behalf.

"How much do I owe you?" she called out, stupidly coming to the conclusion that it would be equally stupid not to reimburse him for the trouble. Taking into account the events that had played out between them the night before, it was a mindful gesture and what she assumed was also a bit of a peace offering.

"Owe?" came Spike's befuddled reply.

"Money. For the food. You went out of your way to get it for me, and- look, how much? I'm good for it, I swear." She reached over and dove into the inner pocket of her duffel bag, bringing out the money stored there prior to leaving Rome. It dawned on her then that maybe she should be keeping it in a much safer place now. Ever since she'd arrived in Los Angeles, imminent danger had practically become her calling card again. "I brought some with me."

He emerged from his bedroom and shot her a glance, only shaking his head. "Forget it. Don't want your cash."

Rather than engage in the prospect of starting another nonsensical tirade, Buffy busied herself with the mundane task of opening the brown paper bag and sneaking a peek inside. There was something to be said for subtlety these days after all. The contents included a sandwich concealed in paper, a single carton of orange juice, and what she supposed was a side of hash browns poking up out of a shoddily constructed paper box. Upon shedding the wrapper, she discovered a large croissant with egg and cheese, and the corners of her mouth immediately twitched themselves into a pleased grin, once again addressing just how famished she'd been feeling since her arrival less than twenty four hours earlier.

"Best eat fast, love. Got an appointment with a fortune teller this morning."

"Fortune teller?"

"Shop talk. Angel wants to see who's pulling the strings. Might want to ask her about those dreams of yours, too. Not entirely sold on the idea myself, but-"

"He can't just go himself?"

"No. Romanian and all that. He's scared she'll put the whammy on him again," he proclaimed with obvious indifference, but smiled good naturedly in spite of it. "Anything else?"

"Anything else, what?" she responded, not altogether sure of where he was going with that statement, but doing what she could not to read too much into it just the same.

He directed his eyes heavenward, lightly clenching his jaw the way he often did when he was starting to get terribly frustrated and trying damn hard not to show it. "Never mind. You should probably grab that to go, though."

The walk to Madame Florea's was surprisingly subdued and coasting on what Buffy thought may as well have been auto pilot. Spike, despite remaining the chivalrous gentleman he was, had essentially clammed up for the entire duration of the trip. And while the fact that he wasn't speaking to her would've proved a welcome relief in the oh-so-distant past, she was finding it to be a bit of an annoyance in the present. She couldn't for the life of her decide if it was intentional on his part, or if he was indeed at a complete loss for words- which up until recently, she reminded herself, was almost unheard of.

They'd taken the tunnels and emerged above ground less than a block away, careful to keep to the shadows. Spike held his duster up over his head and entered ahead of her through the open doorway of the quaint little shop that shared its living space with a cramped pizzeria, nearly colliding with an elderly woman who was making her exit. Mumbling an apology, he rapidly stepped aside and made way for her, wincing briefly when she shot him the most scathing face she could manage.

The commotion did not go unnoticed by Madame Florea herself, who took the opportunity to pop out from beneath a sequined curtain shielding what Buffy assumed was the room in which she conducted her readings and gave customers what they paid for. Whether or not it actually had any bit of valid truth to it was another story altogether. The fortune teller was a petite woman, just below average height, and her long, wavy jet black hair was tucked underneath a thinly veiled floral scarf wrapped around her head. She seemed to be no older than thirty, and her wide set brown eyes and full lips gave her an appropriately exotic appearance, complimenting her olive skin. She wore a simple, pale yellow sundress with a pair of tan sandals, a sky blue cotton shawl rounding out the ensemble and laying quite loosely upon her shoulders. Two large bracelets stylishly adorned each of her wrists and clanked together noisily as she enthusiastically held out both hands to them in a welcoming gesture. "Come in, come in. Please, don't be shy."

But her friendly, outgoing disposition was quick to turn to ice the minute she shifted her gaze from Buffy to Spike, her mouth abruptly lapsing into a tight, cold frown. Those big brown eyes narrowed considerably and she readily took a few steps back, obstinately placing her arms over her chest. "You. You are not welcome here."

"It's okay, he's with-"

"Your _kind_ is not welcome," she repeated, ignoring the slayer completely and directing all of her attention toward Spike as if he were the only one currently present. "Leave."

"Love to. Can't. We need your help." He dove into the left front pocket of his jeans, and retrieved a set of bills safely secured with a rubber band, holding it between his thumb and index finger. "You'll be compensated for your trouble. Throw in a few extra if you give us what we want."

"I do not help monsters," she snapped, not bothering to conceal her rage.

"Oh, I don't bite," he murmured. However, upon reconsidering that notion, he decidedly threw Buffy a quick wink, adding a playful smirk in for good measure. "Much."

"He's not what you think," she insisted, trying once more to appeal to Spike's case.

If the fortune teller could, she would have stared holes through her. "He is a vampire, is he not?"

"Yes, but he has a soul. He fights on our side. Actually, he...sort of already did that before he had a soul, but the point is, he's good. He's put himself on the line more-"

"He may fight for you," Madame Florea acknowledged, "but it does not change what he is. You possess great power yourself. Surely you understand this. What is evil, is always evil. It is not my place to disrupt the balance of things."

"Balance has already been disrupted," Spike informed her. "It's why we're here, pet. We need to find out who's behind the bloody wheel. Now, are you gonna help us or not?"

The young woman sighed, sparing him another glance despite her stance on the matter, her countenance softening somewhat. "What will you do with this information once you have it?"

"Save the world?" he deadpanned. "Of course, it's just a theory."

"The world, as it is, has already begun to change. You may not like what you hear," she advised.

"Lead the way," the vampire urged.

The light in the congested room was rather dim, illuminated only by a pair of candles that sat directly in the center of a small round table decked out in a plain black tablecloth. It unnerved Buffy to some extent, but she figured it suited Spike just fine. A crystal ball anchored in a brass holder was positioned directly in front of a single chair. Two other chairs had been neatly tucked into the opposite end of the table, and Madame Florea pointed to them, nodding for them to sit while she took her own seat across from the crystal ball. She withdrew a pendant from beneath her sundress, calmly running her thumb over it as she shut her eyes, opening them once she'd let go of it and tucked it back into its rightful place. Clearing her throat, she placed both hands upon the crystal.

"That which you seek is not your only concern," she clarified. "There have been dreams, too, yes?"

Buffy watched Spike tense, as his body went noticeably rigid, not quite managing to conceal his shock. She remembered when he used to rely solely on Drusilla to alert him to where or when the latest bout of trouble happened to be brewing, but she suspected this was completely different because his response was so entirely out of context. His entire disposition had literally done a complete metamorphosis, and she knew from firsthand experience that he didn't scare easily- let alone at all. Vampires never did. They were creatures to be feared and usually worshipped for all the wrong reasons, but they seldom broke themselves. They were often the very thing nightmares were made of.

"The last one I had was pretty lucid," the slayer confirmed, reluctantly tearing her thoughts away from him in order to address the inquiry. "Surround sound. I...I felt it, and I could even smell smoke in the air. Everything was gone."

"You have had dreams like this before. A burden that is a result of your calling."

"Yeah," Buffy acceded, absently toying with a loose strand of blonde hair and wrapping it around her finger. "But they weren't- I mean, it seemed as if I were really there this time. Or at least like maybe someone _wanted_ me to be there."

"And you believe these events you have witnessed in your subconscious state share a connection with those events that have transpired here. In Los Angeles. A message, perhaps. It is why you came. Past foretellings have held truth." Madame Florea removed her hands from the crystal ball, placing them upon her temples as her closed lids fluttered rather briefly.

Beside her, Buffy saw Spike roll his eyes, his impatience becoming fairly evident. He had never been one to sit still for too long- namely if he was thoroughly convinced his suspicions warranted some merit and he was being played like a fiddle. She couldn't say she blamed him, as it was no big secret that he was here under protest when Angel had opted out and decided his only remaining option was to send the younger vampire in his place. Of course, the mere thought of running errands for a former enemy, let alone someone Spike had prominently despised for more years than she'd actually been alive, made his blatant discomfort pretty self-explanatory all by itself.

"An old acquaintance will become new again," the seer continued. "In more ways than one. But first, you must repair the damage that has already been done. Your survival depends on it."

"Old acquaintance?" she echoed. "Are you talking about someone I used to know before I became the slayer? Because that really wasn't on my to-do list. That part of my life..." She shook her head, as if by doing so she could try and remove any and all implications stemming from her past. "Look, I only wanted to-"

"There was a boy, wasn't there?" Madame Florea deviated, patently sensing the young woman's uneasiness on the matter and doing her best to seamlessly shift the subject.

It worked.

"A boy?"

"In your dream. A small boy who is later a man," she persisted. "Your vision does not deceive you. You know him well, yet you have doubts."

"No, see, that's just it. I _don't_ know him," she asserted, intent on standing her ground. "I can't see his face because he's wearing some kind of long black cloak thingy."

"The man, yes, but not the boy."

"What does this have to do with- okay, just because I saw him doesn't mean he caused fire and brimstone to rain down on him. He could've just been some random guy. The boy-"

"The boy is covered in ashes."

"Kind of went over that part with the whole world ending schtick," Buffy commented indicatively. "But I need more on the demons that got the jump on us in the alleyway. If they have something to do with my dream, then I should probably be on the alert there."

"You do not believe me, but you _know_. You know him. His hair has not always been so dark, but his eyes have always been that blue. They are one and the same, this man and this boy."

"Fascinating tale, love, but I think I've heard enough." Spike abruptly pushed up out of his seat, markedly unimpressed though still visibly shaken. His hands were not entirely steady as he tucked the chair in closer to the table, tossing half of his currency in front of the fortune teller and duly tucking away the rest. "You haven't told us anything we don't already know."

"We haven't been here that long," Buffy reminded him. "Give her a-"

"A chance?" he finished. "Right then. You can stay for a bit, yeah? I'll just be outside doing my best not to go up in a sodding blaze of glory."

His behavior was starting to alarm her, and as she watched him go, she was thoroughly convinced the old Buffy would've tried to find some way to cope with that minor irritation. But that...that was definitely the old Buffy. The new one had a sinking feeling she was going to have it out with him sooner as opposed to later, and the results of that confrontation had the potential to complicate things between them even further.

Particularly because she knew he was lying.

He was just barely keeping it together now and was obviously dead set on deluding himself into rejecting whatever had triggered the response, which led her to believe that Madame Florea's assertions were beginning to make just a little _too_ much sense to him. Rather than give in and accept those assertions as a remote possibility, he was choosing to bypass any or all of them as a foregone conclusion, so as not to disrupt his semblance of order. She'd been there more times than she could count.

But sometimes facts were nothing more than facts.

"You must not let him get far," the voice whispered. "You need him."

Buffy flinched when the other woman suddenly grabbed her hand, getting a good, firm hold on it and forcing her to meet a pair of sharp brown eyes once again as she awkwardly drew her closer. "To save the world? Yeah, I...more or less already figured that out. Real quick study here."

"You misunderstand me," she scolded, making her grip tighter.

The slayer could feel the agonizing pinch of her flesh, but even her super strength was physically unable to free her from the sturdy vice. "You're hurting me."

"What is forever, may not always be. What is forever, may cease to exist. Remember that, yes?" And with that, she simply let go.

Buffy scrambled to her feet and didn't stop moving until she'd passed through the exit, very narrowly avoiding bumping into an unsuspecting Spike as she rounded the corner, too distracted by the fortune teller's dire warning to pay any attention to precisely where she was headed. Her hand instinctively slumped roughly against the damp brick, bending over and doing her best to slow her breathing- which was coming out in extremely ragged gasps. It made the short distance she'd just sprinted all the more unexplainable, yet the overwhelming urge to fight for air far outweighed her cognitive abilities and did little to calm her. The clouds had become overcast above her, bathing the spot in just the right amount of shade, and transiently shutting out the sun's potent rays.

"Remind me to send tall, dark and forehead a bleeding fruit basket," he drawled, his tone oddly sarcastic despite the immensely painful collision that had been averted by a hair's breadth. He crushed a cigarette beneath the toe of a combat boot, blowing out one last stream of smoke. "Didn't fancy the two of you for putting on such an elaborate show back there. S'pose some congratulations are in order."

"Wait. You..." Her head whipped up, disheartened by the accusation, her eyes reflecting both surprise and affliction. "You think Angel and I planned this?"

He cocked his head to the side, reveling in her vexation. He returned the half empty pack of cigs to the back pocket of his jeans and turned to her, taking a bold step forward just as she took one away from him, her back inches from the slab of stone behind her. "You don't get it, do you, love? You don't see."

"What I _see_," Buffy bravely brought forth, her pulse quickening as a result of the delight he appeared to be relishing in while he closed the distance between them, "is a scared little vampire who walked out of there with his tail tucked between his legs. Didn't really peg him for a coward these days, but hey, there's a first time for everything."

"Oh, don't be daft," he scoffed, just as her back hit the wall with an inaudible thud. "Scared? Hardly. But since you're proving yourself to be quite the eloquent speaker this morning, Slayer, I'll go and do you one better. Our lucky break in there wasn't doing all the driving, and if you and your honey aren't to blame, someone sure as hell is."

It was becoming awfully hard to keep her wits about her when he impulsively caged her in, his hands splaying themselves across the brick surface, his blue eyes indecipherable. "You think she was possessed."

"Damn right," Spike murmured. "Crafty little minx was off her rocker."

"Okay, maybe," she conceded slowly. Close. He was too close to her. Much. Too. Close. She couldn't give into petty distractions. Wouldn't. Not now. "Maybe. But then how did whoever was in there know about my dream? I mean it's not like I went out of my way to advertise it and splash it all over a great big giant billboard. I didn't even tell Dawn the specifics. No one knew but me."

"Could've put it in your head to throw you off. Wasn't playing with a full deck now, was she?"

"There has to be something else at work here. I...I think we should go and-"

"Might be best to just drop it," he suggested, and as if sensing her growing uneasiness with him in dangerously close proximity, broke away without a second thought, already itching for another cigarette to settle his nerves.

"Spike."

"Let it _go_."

"I can't. Angel sent us here for a reason, remember? Don't you want to-"

"No," he snapped.

"_Why_?"

It was such a simple question.

His blue eyes grazed the pavement for what seemed like an eternity before he reluctantly lifted them to hers again, lazily shuffling his feet so that his weight rested solely upon his right foot. He was like a little boy who'd come under immense scrutiny for having gotten himself into a tussle on the playground and failed to see the logic as to why he'd even gone and initiated it in the first place. " 'Cuz it's me," he muttered quietly. So quietly, she almost didn't hear him. "That boy, that..._man_ in your dream. It was me, Buffy."


	5. Chapter 4: Detour

Chapter Four: Detour

_"Our idea of a contented man is the one, if any, that enjoys the scenery along the detour."_  
- Unknown

"Buffy?" Spike abruptly waved a hand in front of her face in the wake of the unnerving silence that permeated the air following his valiant admission, sincerely worried that she'd suddenly become preoccupied with the possibility of punching him in the nose or extending the courtesy to include a much lower extremity. He mentally began preparing himself for a repeat performance from the alleyway and bravely shut his eyes as he envisioned the point of impact the way he surmised it would come to him- which was supposed to be any second now. When nothing happened to even remotely confirm his well thought out theory, he carefully risked sneaking another peek at her, a scarred eyebrow raised in obvious befuddlement. "Slayer?"

"Do you realize what you're saying?" she finally asked him. Although, given the circumstances that had brought them to this particular impasse to begin with, her mind literally seemed a hundred miles away from him at the moment, far from the secluded spot where they still stood surrounded by shadows.

"I realize _exactly_ what I'm saying, love. Considering you set up shop on a bloody Hellmouth before, I figured you for an expert already. Been out of the game that long, have you?"

"I take it you've never heard of coincidence then." It was more of a statement than an inquiry, but he could sense the lethal bite beneath her usual brand of sarcasm. More than anything, it remained a fairly direct invitation to challenge her, and despite how a small voice inside his head was repeatedly screaming at him to walk away, he was inclined to humor her just the same. The cat was out of the bag, the chips were down, and far be it for him to play the sodding shrinking violet like his undead existence actually depended on it.

"So you think only fortune tellers preach to the choir, is that it? Time to get off your high horse, pet." He vaguely contemplated pulling out the pack of cigarettes he'd pocketed minutes earlier, as his fingers were itching to occupy themselves with something. _Anything_, if it meant he didn't have to focus solely on her. "When Dru up and left me for that stupid chaos demon, she told me I tasted like ashes. Put two and two together? The ashes in your dream. It was right before she got the crazy idea in that noggin of hers that I'd fallen for you. Scoldin' me for not pushing you away."

"It doesn't explain the little boy or the cloak," she pointed out adamantly, shrugging.

"Of course it explains it." She just wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Saved a baby with the cloak while Angel and company were busy taking out the rest of the Black Thorn, and in case you failed to notice," he added, as his index finger indicated the top of his head, "I've been tamin' these curls since you met me. Well, _tryin'_ to, anyway. Doesn't always work when you're gettin' it handed to you by the current resident demon beastie at large now, does it?"

"You saved a baby?" Buffy inquired somewhat incredulously.

"I did, but it's really not...yeah, okay. I admit it. Saved the little bit from becoming a sacrifice on its thirteenth birthday. Gave the Fell Brethren quite a thrashing, too. Good and proper."

"Gee, that's nice for you," she mused, rolling her eyes, "but why would I have a connection to the Black Thorn when I wasn't even aware they existed until Giles told me? That's insane evil logic. I didn't even know you were _alive_ before yesterday."

"Bugger it." It occurred to him that he may have been a lot better off had he simply left her back at his apartment, opting against informing her of his comings and goings regardless of the level of urgency pertaining to whoever or whatever it happened to concern. After all, it wasn't like he was indebted to her in any way. But indebted or not, there was always something about the tiny blonde that refused to grant him the luxury of casting her off completely, despite earning himself a solid victory in the demise of good old Sunny D. Try as he might, he was unable to fully shake what he felt for her, and those feelings were growing all the more vigorous the longer he spent doting on her presence like a blithering idiot. It was shaping up to be a very big problem.

As if he needed more of those.

"Connected or not, it doesn't make it any less true," he insisted. "We need to find Angel, see if he's-"

"What, and tell him we've got nothing? There's a good idea."

Whether she was consciously aware of it or not, she was severely trying his patience, and he was nearly on the verge of laughing due to the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. "Are you honestly gonna stand there and tell me you aren't absolutely delighted with the prospect of dropping in on the git? You were making googly-eyes at him not even five hours ago, and yet here you are all paranoid about-"

"I am not paranoid!" she immediately objected, hands on her hips. "_So_ not paranoid here."

"Right then. Not paranoid," Spike deadpanned. "Whatever was I thinkin'?"

"Listen, you don't-"

"No, I'll leave you to it," he affirmed. "Wax poetic all you like. Think I'll go and have myself a good drink."

"Great, because we should probably talk."

The glare he shot her was unexpected, and if looks could kill, he figured he would've been right on the mark. None of this, not one speck, had been in the bloody brochure. He was underestimating her time and again, and while on some level it flattered him that she was still so willing to tag along without much debate, he honestly couldn't fathom why she hadn't reached the point where she was sick of the very sight of him. He didn't think any of it was going according to plan, but it was undoubtedly progress on both sides that they hadn't managed to tear each other's heads off yet.

He needed to tread softly.

"I...I mean, _really_ talk," Buffy swiftly corrected, slightly flustered at the obvious lack of a response on his part, unaware that he'd been caught up in his own musings. "We didn't get a chance to last night, and I was more or less hoping we could fix that."

"Fine, but just so you know, it's a limited time offer," he murmured, intentionally projecting just the slightest bit of impassiveness. "There's a bar a few blocks over. Demon bar, but nice and cozy. Don't try anything rash and drum up the wrong kind of business, and we should be right as rain." He calmly jerked a thumb behind him. "It's probably best to just go back the way we came and cut over. Wouldn't recommend gettin' yourself outright knackered, either, as I know from experience you can't exactly hold your liquor."

"Hmm."

"Bloody hell." Spike raised a brow, conspicuously dumbfounded regarding the vague comeback, his blues tracking her with a bit of uncertainty. "Now what?"

"Did we...actually just agree on something without resorting to physical violence?" she queried teasingly, unable to hide the quick grin that crept up over her pretty face.

The vampire hesitated for only a moment before he came to the conclusion that she was indeed being completely genuine, and emphatically professed a slow nod in her direction, eventually matching her smile with one of his own. "S'pose we did. Not that this makes us friends or anything."

She laughed then, long and loud, and it did his heart good to hear it. It didn't matter so much that it wasn't even beating, as his soul pretty much took care of that part anyway. The presence of it had kindly granted him a window of opportunity that had remained so tightly closed prior to enduring those painful trials once he'd seen a man about a girl. And because of that selfless choice and that profound sense of recognition, it was no longer just about rehashing past indiscretions and atoning for sins that in all likelihood could have filled a book. It was about the here and now, and instead of the groveling he'd been all about mastering tenfold back at his apartment, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, a tiny crumb had finally been thrown to him in his favor.

"Nope, never," she chided. "That would mean a lot of sharing and late night phone conversations. Doing each other's hair. The last of which I kinda outgrew in high school."

The distance they covered to the bar by way of the tunnels was met with bits and pieces of small talk dealing with the current whereabouts of the rest of the Scoobies, namely what each of them happened to be up to in said location, and whether their duties consisted of rounding up potentials or was strictly limited to the magical variety. Spike really didn't consider it anything more than an incessant maze of aimless chitchat, and was unable to shake a more pressing matter that may as well have been the very equivalent of the proverbial elephant in the room. But he didn't have a sodding clue as to how to broach the subject Buffy was so quick to dismiss outside of Madame Florea's. While she rambled on about Harris, Red, Faith, and the Watcher, he was busy sussing out how he'd found his way into her dream in Italy when she hadn't been briefed about his resurrection via amulet prior to the demonic ambush in the alleyway.

It was nagging him even as they approached and entered the popular building, summarily noting with some disdain that it was going to be rather difficult to lay claim to a table inside the shoddy establishment- largely due to the obnoxious crowd filling it right to the brim despite the early hour of the morning. Gently placing a hand upon the small of her back, Spike guided Buffy toward a set of vacated stools that lined the cluttered length of the bar itself, figuring it was as good a place as any to exchange words that would be appropriately drowned out by the noise the second they were spoken. If any of the patrons that resided nearby recognized the diminutive woman beside him as the slayer, they had either perfected the art of stoicism, or simply couldn't be bothered with someone they no longer considered a formidable threat. He would bet buckets on the latter.

"Think we could ask one of them who sent the parade of demons after us last night?" Buffy warmly suggested. "Might actually be interesting."

"Discretion, remember? We're not here to fight, love." He did have to admit that the prospect seemed awfully endearing, though, and it would certainly more than suffice in breaking up the monotony. The demon in him was dormant a lot more these days with his soul intact, but if the circumstances proved favorable, he wasn't going to pass up the chance for a decent brawl. " 'Sides, if D'Hoffyrn is indeed your mastermind behind this little scheme, we don't want to tip him off now, do we? Eyes and ears in here. Be bad for both of us."

"So how did you do it?"

He was thrown somewhat aback by the question, his index finger raised to signal the bartender before he turned back to her, curiously tilting his head to the side. "Do?"

"Came back," Buffy reminded him. "You said it was the amulet and then something about a box."

"Yeah. As it so happens, a package mysteriously found its way to Wolfram and Hart that contained an amulet. The same amulet you gave me back in Sunnydale," he supplied. "Courtesy of the poofter himself."

"How long were you-"

"Dead? Well, more dead than I usually am, at any rate."

She only nodded.

"Nineteen days after we took out The First. Or so I was told. There was a slight catch, though," he added before she could protest the timeline being a lot longer than she initially suspected, which only confirmed to him that he still knew her just a bit better than she knew herself. "I was a ghost. Had it in my head to try and come see you even then, but I was bound to Los Angeles. Couldn't seem to get away. Whatever had brought me back, saw to it that I was trapped. Helpless. So I decided to hang about and do what I do best."

The bartender sauntered up to them, a short man with pale green skin and a single horn protruding from the top of his head, his eyes a blazing shade of yellow. His nails were eerily long, and his broad shoulders sagged slightly, a faded Hawaiian shirt adorning them, the top two buttons popped open near the collar. Ordering up a shot of whiskey, Spike went the safe route and asked for a soda for Buffy, much to her gaping dismay. The troubling accusations of cheating at kitten poker would forever haunt him, soul or no, and to be perfectly frank, he really didn't have the patience required to deal with a brassed off slayer who was also heavily under the influence of alcohol.

"Okay, so you made it a point to stick around and annoy Angel," she observed. "What else is new?"

"Hell of a lot more fun than I thought it'd be, too. But for all intents and purposes, I wasn't exactly stable."

"Hardly a surprise."

"_Look_, the reason I wasn't stable was 'cuz of Matthias Pavayne. Pavayne was another ghost who got his jollies by messin' with those of us who were weaker in order to prolong his own damnation. Thanks to the miraculous Fred, we were able to corporealize him and lock the wanker away in Wolfram and Hart's own house of horrors. Permanently, too. Threw away my own chance at freedom right then and there, but it was once again for the greater good, so what did I care, right?" He glanced up as the bartender tossed a shot glass his way, thoroughly grateful the second the drink touched his lips, drowning it in a single gulp. "Not long after that, another package makes the rounds at the firm and finds its way to Harm's desk."

"Wait, Harm as in _Harmony_? As in the _same_ Harmony you once dated?"

"Surely your Watcher must have told you she was Angel's girl Friday. Don't see how he could have passed up the opportunity on that one. But again, stranger things have happened, haven't they?"

"I'm thinking yes," Buffy confirmed, scrunching up her nose as she eyed the tall glass of soda that was placed before her, a generous amount of ice cubes scattered along the top.

"Anyway, she gets this box and the box is addressed to me. Can't open it myself, of course, what with the whole transparency thing and all, so she goes and does it for me. Nothing but air and a flash of bright light. Slap and a tickle. Suddenly, I'm back to being a real boy. Well, not really, 'cuz, well, vampire here. But Wolfram and Hart is all wonky after that. Blokes killing each other, eyes bleeding red. You'd be pleased to know it was basically just a smokescreen so the ponce and I could finally have a go at one another. God knows I'd waited long enough for it. Seems it was my lucky day- though I s'pose not for that poor fellow who bought it in the copy room."

Buffy stopped twirling the straw around in her glass, studying him briefly, her green eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch. "You fought with Angel."

"Yeah. Fair and square. Duked it out over the Cup of Perpetual Torment in an abandoned opera house."

"The Cup of Per what?" she repeated.

"Perpetual Torment. The winner gets to overcome great pain and take on a boatload of manly responsibility, prior to havin' their entire slate wiped clean. _Human_, for lack of a better term. Living, breathing, the works." He saw her entire body stiffen beside him, markedly noting the way the drink in her right hand shook slightly, listening with some fondness to the ferocious beat of her heart as it began to hammer loudly in her chest. "Joke was on us, though. Cup had nothing but Mountain Dew in it."

When she didn't make any effort to reply, he gathered his assumptions were spot on, and she was probably overcome with some sickly sweet vision of a future with the vampire who would in all likelihood always have her heart. After all, she'd told him once that the only reason he'd wanted her was because she was unattainable. It had pissed him off to no end. He was absolutely clear on the concept that he'd never be what Angel was to her, but what they shared in the past could never, not in a million years, be chalked up to her simply being _unattainable_ to him. He'd confessed as much, and said his peace there, but he often wondered if she really did understand just how much she meant to him. Present tense included.

"Not that it matters now, but I kicked him into next Sunday, so if he asks, we're pretty much even," Spike went on. "Fought him tooth and nail for that cup. Pretty much evened out the sodding score there. Although, don't get me wrong, I'd still love a good go-round about that cavemen verses astronauts bit, too."

"Spike, I-"

"And that about covers it," he interceded, carelessly waving a hand in front of him as if to dismiss the colloquy. Raising it a bit higher, he tried to notify the bartender and get his attention again. "Such a stirring tale of woe."

Before she could stop herself, she clamped her hand over his wrist and drew it down to his lap, her green eyes flashing. "Tell me you are seriously not considering having another drink. Just...a world of no, okay?"

"She's right," a perturbed voice commented on her behalf. "As much as it wouldn't bother me to see you drown yourself in it and wallow away the remaining hours in a drunken stupor, you were _supposed_ to be at Madame Florea's. Instead, I find you here slumming it and taking Buffy along for the entire pathetic ride. Color me stunned."

"Please, it's not like I had to drag her kickin' and screamin'. She has a brain, you nit. More than capable of using it to make her own decisions, which is more than I can say for some of us at this point." Spike rose sharply from the miniscule bar stool, leaving a handful of cash in between his shot glass and Buffy's soda, and mentally berated himself when the sun's rays shone straight through the illuminated glass, inches from the soles of his boots- dutifully reminding him that he wasn't about to storm out and become the very definition of a crispy treat. He laughed at the result of his own sheer stupidity, clenching his jaw for the umpteenth time that day out of equal parts frustration and defeat, and reluctantly took a step back. "Oh, and while we're on the subject, the stalking bit has grown stale."

"Not stalking," Angel shot back. "Made a few calls and followed the path of peroxide. _Really_ wasn't that hard."

"Did your calls also tell you we left Madame Florea's about fifteen minutes ago?" he tossed back. "Of course, that was before she started sprouting some complete and utter gibberish, or what Buffy here has gone and drummed up as coincidence. Ain't that right, pet?"

Buffy shut her eyes. "Spike."

"What gibberish?" Angel demanded. "She's legitimate. My sources said-"

"Yeah, your sources," he prompted. "Sorry to tell you this, hero, but I think it's time to call your bluff. Any contacts you had vanished the day Wolfram and Hart crumbled to the bloody ground. Just admit it. It's all a bust."

"Okay, I realize you're a little slow this morning, so I'll cut you some slack." Angel rested his right elbow upon the grimy wooden surface of the bar as he sought some leverage, angling himself toward the other vampire and crossing his feet at his ankles. He spoke at a near whisper, his line of vision tracking to the occupants in the chairs and tables surrounding them. "The Senior Partners are onto us, Spike. They can still smell victory when it's not handed to them on a silver platter. If you think they were beyond upset when we made short work of their army, just imagine what they'll try to do to us after the fact. We burned a lot of bridges that day, and our past is about to come back to bite us in the ass. They're moving on it, and soon. It's within their right to hold a grudge for eternity, because they _are_ eternal. So excuse me if I don't feel like drowning my sorrows in a pint or two when I could actually be working to prevent it. But if it's one thing they didn't count on in all of this, it's Buffy. If we're lucky, we could make it work to our advantage."

"Whoa, hey, _Buffy_ is sitting right over here." The slayer reached over and flapped a hand rapidly in front of his face, notably disconcerted at being left out of the discussion like she was essentially invisible to the naked eye. "She also doesn't take too kindly to being kept in the dark. Besides, I didn't see any of these corporate what's it bad men in my dream, I just saw Spike. So I hardly think that qualifies us in yet another battle for world domination, tough guy."

Spike's countenance softened considerably regarding the candid admittance, and a small, unassuming grin tugged at the corners of his mouth before he could stop it, his blues brightening with what could only be described as an innocent kind of awe. It only served to reaffirm and cement the utmost respect he had for her, because just when he thought it wasn't possible to fall any more in love with the woman she'd become, she'd gone and surprised the hell out of him again.

"Spike was in your dream?" His disappointment plainly evident, Angel turned around to look at her, quickly frowning. "You had a dream about Spike?"

"If I'm in this for the long haul," she persisted, ignoring him, "you've gotta educate me on these Partner guys and what the deal is. Giles only gave me a brief rundown, and if our lives, or...undead lives depend on it, I'm gonna have to know all the slimy, sordid details. You said you had a new hangout spot."

"You had a dream about _Spike_?" he reiterated, clearly engrossed in what he deemed a far more interesting topic than the one at hand.

"Not this again," she mumbled, rolling her eyes. "Yes! I had a dream about Spike. Why is that so hard to believe? Is everything always so high school with you? God, grow up." Buffy sighed miserably, running a hand through her long blonde hair as she fought to steady herself and calm her nerves, vying for purchase. "Anyway, it doesn't mean what you think it means. Madama Florea told me I had to fix what was broken with someone from my past. What if what's broken is with Spike? I had no idea he was here all this time, and it's not like you made any effort to tell me. Maybe-"

"Would you have listened?" Angel countered. "I was the C.E.O. of an evil law firm. It's not the kind of job that gives you warm, fuzzy feelings inside."

"No, but it's pretty much the equivalent of living a lie," she divulged in opposition.

A certain someone had pretty much told him the exact same thing before she'd passed away in a hospital bed, fulfilling one last job for The Powers That Be and never having truly recovered from her coma. Despite more than making up for his previous lack of judgment in having lost sight of the mission, he couldn't quite shake the similarities. He thought that attacking and disassembling the ruthless Black Thorn had been enough. But as long as the Senior Partners were out there, it might not ever be enough. "I was never the bad guy here, all right? My team and I did some real good when I held that position. It wasn't all about doing evil's bidding."

"I seem to recall more than a couple slipups," Spike countered. "Heads in buckets, a few spare parts. Yeah, you really did a fine job pissing off your clients, mate. You _needed_ that wake-up call."

"Which Cordelia _gave_ to me when I got her visions."

"The well still running a little dry there?" the other vampire taunted. "Usually you would have written a sodding book by now."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Oh no? 'Cuz I'm thinkin' it's how you found us. Don't exactly need contacts when your memory bank's spillin' over with the deepest darkest secrets, courtesy of former vision girl extraordinaire. Face it." Spike wagged a finger at him. "You cheated."

"The Senior Partners have put up a wall, dumbass. They've shut me out," Angel confessed. "Look, even if I did have a vision to help find you, it doesn't change the fact that I need your help. You _and_ Buffy. Illyria said the Partners had very little power in her time, and the only way they've managed to hold that power in this dimension is by a secondary means of corruption. They built that firm from the ground up so they could hide through the eyes of the law. It's why their true forms can't reveal themselves. They lack the physical strength needed to move ahead with their timetable. We know this, and we have that strength, that pull. So I say we use it."

"How about we just pick door number two instead?" Spike suggested. "Hate to break this to you, you big poof, but that speech doesn't really inspire the utmost confidence in your small, but loyal band of soldiers. I need more if I'm gonna think about layin' down my life again, yeah?"

"I killed one of them already," he stated simply.

The blonde merely raised a tired brow. "Nice try."

"I did. It was during the Seventy-Five Year Review. He didn't manifest his true form, but I still took him down. Kleynach demon."

"Ever occur to you that it was probably just a shell?"

"The point is, if we can somehow put an end to their ability to travel between dimensions and strand them, their influence doesn't hold any water here. We'd be binding them on all counts. They'd be trapped. Forever."

"Do you even remember how bleeding hard it was to beat back what they unleashed on us near the Hyperion? We almost died out there, Angel. Well, the dead part basically goes without saying. But I hardly think going in there all Charles Bronson like will change things. And just so we're clear, you should probably get your deposit back, too, 'cuz that spell barely held. Had the bumps and bruises to prove it. For all we know, their power has no limits. Can't restrict power like that. Hence the world _limitless_."

"Okay, I hate to interrupt your ramblings and reflections, as I'm actually still pretty much convinced people underestimate the value of a good ramble," Buffy cut in, hastily maneuvering her body in between them and placing each of her palms on their chests, "but this is stupid."

"Beg your pardon, pet?"

"One, we should be discussing this in the privacy of whatever headquarters you've got set up in who knows where, and two- hello. This isn't _Pinky and the Brain_. Devising a carefully calculated plan might not be the best idea when they usually see it coming. We need to come up with something on a whim. Besides, I'm gonna surmise everything didn't exactly go smoothly when you took those Thorn guys out, or else you would've had a much easier time escaping the wrath of those Senior Partner dudes, right?"

"The lady has a point," Spike murmured.

"No, she doesn't, because she hasn't honed the research like I have," Angel disputed, shaking his head. "Not to mention, we've already lost Fred, Cordy, Gunn, and Wes. The number of casualties is only going to rise if we refuse to act on it, and I won't sit back and watch more innocent people die at our expense. I'm done with losing people I care about, Spike."

"Now you sound like a bleeding infomercial," he quipped. "Well, either that or a broken record. Havin' a hard time deciding which. Did it ever once occur to you that the attack on us in the alleyway the other night happened the same day your slayer got here? Probably received the notice in their mailbox weeks in advance, you ask me. The real kicker in all this, is that you're the Powers' shiny golden boy and even _you_ couldn't sneak a peek at her arrival. Someone knows more than they're saying."

"You mean someone in Rome," Buffy addressed him, her green eyes meeting his with a touch of recognition. "Maybe I should send over a couple of the potentials and get Dawn and Andrew to-"

"Dawn and Andrew are the least of their concerns," Angel assured her, attempting to repress any worries she may have had, and putting a familiar hand upon her shoulder to give it a brief squeeze. "They're more interested in what's going on here. The potentials are just fine where they are, too. There's no reason to bring any of them into this unless we have to. They'll all be safer if they don't know anything."

"And the Caped Crusader swoops in to comfort the girl," Spike proclaimed quietly, offering his own rendition of mock applause, his handsome profile displaying an openly decisive smirk. "Brilliant save, Peaches. Next you'll be telling her not to be scared of the monsters lurking under her bed."

"Little late for that," Angel emphasized. "There was only one, and she already let him into her bed, didn't she?"

Seeing only red in front of him as a result, Spike angrily shoved him into a table of patrons no more than five feet away, watching with glee as the bane of his existence tumbled dangerously into four demons who, by the looks of it, were closely bonding over beer and business, their crisp black suits now a horribly soiled and insanely wrinkled mess. Going back to whatever office they'd hailed from in that condition was obviously no longer an option, and he watched them gradually start to shift into what could only be described as battle mode. Shards of glass were scattered far and wide across the floor amid the shuffle, and one of its unfortunate victims was at present enduring the unfortunate task of removing a long, narrow fragment from right above his dark gray kneecap, yelling in agony as it continued to tear through and slice his tattered, bloodied flesh.

Every single one of them appeared right peeved at the unfortunate predicament they'd found themselves in, and Spike's eyes secretly gleamed with overt amusement, coming to the conclusion that he might just get to participate in that brawl he'd longed for after all. He heard one of them emit a perilously low growl, and figured he might as well just get on with it. He spotted the smallest and the bravest of the group taking what he presumed was an adequately calculated swing at Angel, but was knocked off his feet in no time flat by an agonizing punch to the nose, coming from none other than an unmistakably perturbed and petite slayer. Just as he was on the verge of alerting her to the one still creeping up right behind her, he saw her beautifully execute a solid roundhouse kick, sending the perpetrator in question spiraling into even more unsuspecting occupants that were obstructing the space in their mad dash for the door.

Spike was now thoroughly convinced it was a creature of the night thing, because watching her fight never failed to turn him on, always igniting an instant spark of adoration. It was unlikely he'd ever forget being on the receiving end of her fist on numerous occasions pre-soul, but he imagined it was no different for Angel, who despite his own tainted history with Buffy, had the same kind of unflappable loyalty towards her, fisticuffs and all.

"We are _so_ gonna have a chat about this later," she warned, just as the demon who'd gotten the brunt of that fist got back up again and charged into the ring for the second round.


	6. Chapter 5: Strategy

Chapter Five: Strategy

_"Every advantage is temporary."_  
- Katerina Stoykova Klemer

"Well, that was a breath of fresh air," Spike commented, as he proudly sauntered out the back door of the bar and into the comfort of the dim alleyway, a smug smile falling across his lips. "Not that I actually breathe, of course, but it was..." He paused, noting with some dismay the obvious disappointment flickering across the faces of a certain slayer and vampire who reluctantly followed him out, each of them having perfected a state of annoyance to counteract his overwhelming glee. "Oh, c'mon, tell me that wasn't _fun_."

"You really wanna go there?" Buffy demanded, as she carefully plucked a tiny shard of glass from her long blonde hair and let it drop onto the pavement below, irritably shifting her attention to the massive tangle that had emerged as a result. "Because I seem to recall another fight you started that ended pretty much the same way back in Sunnydale when you were all mopey over Dru. The only difference here is that you pissed off a bunch of demons instead of vampires. Which, hey...I guess goes without saying, doesn't it?"

He merely raised a brow in response, turning towards her and tilting his head to the side to accommodate her, his blue eyes intently searching her green ones. "Meaning?"

"_Meaning_ you were in the mood for a fight, but didn't want too much competition," she informed him simply, offering a quick shrug to top it off. "If it were vampires, you might've been in way over your head."

"Is this your way of saying you'd like to take me on again, love?" The blush that crept up over her cheeks lasted only a fraction of a second, and if he would've gone and blinked in that very moment, he was sure he would have missed it. "If memory serves, we always did make a good team, you and I."

"We did," she added casually, doing what she could to cleverly circumvent any lingering emotional baggage, suddenly eager to abandon the conversation altogether. "We...really did, but that's not what I-"

"You'd just prefer not to discuss it in front of Captain Forehead," he finished. "Right then. Carry on."

"Look, nobody is carrying on anything here." Angel immediately halted his step, obstinately placing his hands upon his hips, his mouth set in a tight line as he glanced from one to the other. It was becoming fairly evident that the scuffle they'd incurred inside the bar was the least of his worries, and the pent up frustration he'd failed to vent physically was wearing out its welcome in more ways than one. "You know, I really hate to spoil your misguided attempt at gunning for a date, Willy, but there's another kind of teamwork that sort of takes precedence over getting lucky. It's called trying to figure out who's going to kill us next. Maybe you've heard of it."

"Yeah, uh, that might work if we weren't already dead," he quipped, rolling his eyes. " 'Sides, I thought we pretty much covered that back at the bar, mate. Senior Partners, remember? Axe wielding, dragon flying...ringing any bells?" When he merely received an unyielding glare in response, Spike simply held up his hands in surrender, seemingly proclaiming what appeared to be a genuine attempt at calling truce. "May have hit your head a bit too hard back there. I'll go see if I can find it."

"That's all this is to you, isn't it? A joke. After everything we've been through, everything we've seen, it just doesn't-"

"Have you lost it, you ponce? Have you gone sodding bonkers? Not like we can go after it if we don't have the slightest idea of what we're bloody dealing with!" He sighed, shaking his head, as he mustered up a faint laugh. "But this isn't just about the threat looming over us, is it? No, we're long past that now, aren't we? You've already gone and convinced yourself there's something else going on here, so you try to drum up some stupid excuse about me not caring while you're the only great manly man on a mission. The big strapping hero. Buffy may have loved you, but the minute you try and shag her again, you better hope you get insurance that covers the wrath of Angelus, otherwise you're in for a very rude awakening."

"At least I didn't try for a world record in that department, did I?" Angel shot back.

"That's enough!" Buffy yelled, throwing out her arms in front of her, palms outstretched toward each of them in turn, ordering them to stay right where they were. "God, I've had it. You two pummel the crap out of each other over some lame cup and it _still_ won't suffice. I know you've got this completely pointless unending rivalry between you, but it's time to get over it and grow a pair, all right? I think evil made it pretty clear last night that it's not just gonna sit around and wait for us to find it. It never has. We have to start putting aside our differences and-"

"Great, then I'll put 'em aside back at my place," Spike offered, turning on his heel and professing a quick wave, his boots clomping noisily against the concrete as he was careful to continue keeping to the shadows. "Have a nice life."

"So that's it? That's..._all_? You're just gonna go and take the easy way out again?" she taunted, her voice struggling not to break as she called after him, secretly pleading for him not to go, but wanting to scream at him and scold him just the same. And if she was being especially blunt about it, the desire to do _other_, much more personal things to him was occurring to her at oddly frequent intervals the longer she occupied the same space he did. She figured the front she was trying so hard to maintain was already on the verge of crumbling the minute he'd caged her in in the alleyway following the visit to Madame Florea. Taking him on in a sparring match wasn't exactly what she'd initially had in mind to satisfy the urge, but the fact that she was craving _some_ kind of contact with him couldn't be ignored.

"Easy way out? Easy way- look, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were as blind as he is, Slayer. Before you hopped a flight and happened along our way in the middle of a bleeding ambush, me and the poof here were gettin' along just fine."

"Well, that's not entirely-" Angel started.

"Didn't Percy leave any of his beloved books behind? We could find whatever we need in there. Unless of course they're lyin' in the rubble somewhere beneath Wolfram and Hart, which means we should probably just put our heads in the sand and wait 'til the apocalypse passes us right on by. All in favor, step on up."

"Percy?" Buffy asked, visibly lost. "Are we talking about Percy from Sunnydale High? Because that would just open up a whole other can of worms that I don't even think I can deal with right now."

"Wesley," Angel filled in for her. "He means Wesley. And no, I didn't really have an opportunity to salvage any resources when Hamilton was busy trying to beat me to a pulp. Kind of hard to think about research when you're flying headfirst into a wall."

"Then for your sake, I guess it's good you took one for the team," Spike gibed, nodding matter of factly.

"Okay, so help me, I've just about-"

"Curly, Moe!" Buffy hissed. "Demon, two o'clock. Don't make it obvious, but I think he's watching us."

Angel risked a brief side glance, but could only discern a shape of average build that was clearly adept at blending into obscurity, unable to determine anything remotely familiar pertaining to its countenance. He saw it shift its stance rather fluidly and move itself a bit further out of reach. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm sure. Is there any other way out of here? I mean besides the tunnels, because it's still..." She stopped mid-sentence, her green eyes instead choosing to hone in on the sky above them, which was gradually beginning to darken in color with each passing minute, ardently wrapping any remaining traces of sunlight up into a thick blanket of black. Streetlamps simultaneously flickered on and off around them, and an eerily tranquil breeze stirred the tall trees across the street, noisily rustling the leaves upon impact. A fine rain was now raucously falling in steady increments, thoroughly drenching the slick pavement below.

A young couple clung to each other on the sidewalk as they prepared to cross, the man dutifully securing an arm around the woman's shoulders as he drew her closer to him, her tiny hands draping themselves helplessly over his waist. A short man in a pinstripe business suit tried in vain to crack open his checkered umbrella, but the contraption repeatedly refused to cooperate under the current weather conditions and he soon gave up on it, angrily tossing it aside in an effort to find shelter from the incoming storm. A mother pushing a stroller with a little boy in it readjusted the awning to avoid the downpour, and barely dodged a shallow puddle in her ridiculously tall black pumps, a string of curses erupting from her mouth despite her child being in attendance.

"Daytime?" Spike put in offhandedly. "Not to put a damper on the discussion here, pet, but I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

"The last time something like this happened, the Beast blocked out the sun when he killed five totems of the sun god Ra," Angel murmured.

"Thought the bastard was dead," the blonde vampire pressed. "Legend has it, anyway."

"He was. I mean he is. I killed him myself. Or...Angelus did." Appearing somewhat disgusted with that admission and the painful memories that arose from it, he shook his head, as if trying to free himself from the images that threatened to taint it. "It's not important. He's gone, he's out of the picture, so whatever's going on here has nothing to do with him at all, okay?"

"Bet your undead existence on it, would you?"

"Okay, am I the only one not really caring about this Ra Ra god?" Buffy intervened impatiently, her gaze continuing to track the movements of their apparent demonic spy up ahead. "Look, I want answers. You guys can stay here and keep bickering like little old ladies, or you can bury the hatchet and get on with it- but like it or not, I'm going after not-so-inconspicuous guy."

"I'm all for interrogating him, love, but you might want to hang back a bit 'til we can suss out what he is first. Won't have you putting yourself in harm's way for-"

"Oh, so you're back to telling me what to do now?"

"Just don't want you in the line of fire, is all. We need to know more about him. Not a crime, is it?"

"No, but letting him get away is."

"Buffy."

"Well, gee, Mom, maybe I'll kick things off by asking him what he got last Christmas."

"Oh, for God's sake." His gut was rarely wrong, and right now it was telling him that something just wasn't adding up. It was rare for a demon to deliberately resort to taunting them for this long without actually being poised and ready to attack. They weren't all evil, not as a rule. Yet when speaking for the overwhelming majority, it was rare for there to be a slacker in the bunch. Most typically jumped headlong into the plotting and scheming aspect before the grand finale capped it off with a good human death thrown in to balance out the scales. This one obviously went against the grain, seemingly hanging about on the off chance that they might approach him and strike up a meaningful conversation- and with a slayer, no less. Vampire that he was, Spike just couldn't see that happening. It sure as hell wasn't in his nature the day he'd first sought Buffy out upon arriving in Sunnydale, and he was more inclined to believe this was merely a cheap ploy to get her on the menu for the next all-you-can-eat buffet.

"_Buffy_." But she was acting as if she hadn't even heard him, nimbly moving out of earshot and away from him, gaining momentum as her feet skimmed over the puddles that had already begun forming throughout the length of the bleak alleyway, her clothes thoroughly soaked to the brim.

He watched her crane her neck back to steal just the briefest of glimpses in his direction, no doubt disappointed that he hadn't chosen to follow her, her eyes immediately shifting to Angel's to gauge his reaction in hopes of at least one of them having a change of heart. Unfortunately, it was too little, too late, and it was all the demon in front of her needed to furtively slip into battle to blindside and gain the advantage over her, knocking her completely off her guard. The creature advanced on her with great speed, roughly backhanding her and sending her spiraling face down onto the wet concrete. It was painfully clear she'd felt the full brunt of the assault currently being waged against her, as she wasn't making even the slightest bit of effort to pick herself up, her body remaining unresponsive to everything around her. Growling, the demon advanced on her a second time, precariously lifting her broken body and slinging a long green arm across her waist, hoisting her up against him so that her back rested tightly against his chest. He vigorously proceeded to make his way towards the deserted street, blinking rain out of his wide eyes, his breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps while he struggled with the extra weight of an unconscious slayer.

"Buffy!" He almost didn't recognize the shrill voice that came out of his mouth as his own, and he was running before he even realized it, Angel close behind him.

The demon began shouting out a string of unintelligible words, in what sounded very much like some old and forgotten demonic tongue, clumsily belting out a repetition of the garbled chant in a shaky second verse. Spike considered himself well-schooled in a number of otherworldly languages in his one hundred plus years, but found himself at a complete and utter loss with this translation- though he strongly suspected it was the least of their troubles when he spotted the swirling mass of greens and yellows that was slowly enveloping the vacant space before them. "Oh, bollocks."

"It's a portal!" Angel yelled.

"I can see that, you nit." But his response was drowned out by the gusts of wind that propelled the large ball of energy forward, allowing it to consume anything that blew into its path, swallowing it whole. The demon was earnestly inching towards it as if it were his salvation, taking a benumbed Buffy with him, his foot nearly gracing the threshold.

Spike didn't think. He didn't have to, because in that split second, he'd already made his decision. He couldn't lose her. He _wouldn't_ lose her. Not again. Everything he ever knew ceased to exist in that moment, and he covered the ground he needed to in three short steps. The fingers of his right hand clutched the monster's tattered brown sweater, following him right through the vortex.

He stumbled slightly as he lost his grip, ignoring the severe discomfort he experienced when his hands went out to steady themselves, only to come crashing down hard onto the debris below. The sharp, jagged edges of rock sliced into each palm with calculated precision, and he inspected them in pure disbelief, his tolerance usually faring much higher. The injury he'd sustained from the broken beer bottle in his apartment the previous day had long since closed up and repaired itself. But nothing had cushioned his fall here, and the cuts that now lined his palms were likely the same ones that befell his kneecaps. His duster was caked with dirt and torn in a few spots, the rest of his wardrobe much of the same, having been subjected to such rough treatment.

The sky above him was identical to the shade of black that it had been in the alleyway, but the world that surrounded him now was one of utter devastation, looking as if had been put through the ringer a dozen times over for it to arrive in the state it currently sat in. Some of the buildings only retained half of their original height and those that had been demolished beyond the point of no return or recognition, were lying in heaps similar to that which lay in the horrific display in front of him. He discerned that several cars must have gotten trapped beneath the wreckage at the point of impact, because the glass from the windshields and side windows had been blown out and scattered about like tiny specks, emitting shiny little sparkles amongst the ruins. He shook his head as he struggled to get his bearings, noting for the first time that his vision was also somewhat blurred, initially attributing it the overabundance of dust that encompassed him.

Something was different, though. He was more than sure of it. Smells he could've placed and named in a heartbeat, were now startlingly foreign to him, and his wounds were causing him a great deal more distress than he was readily willing to admit. The air had a rather daunting chill to it that coursed right through his bones, and his body shivered involuntarily from the blast of cold that ripped right through it. Spike winced, letting out a breath he was unaware he'd even been holding, the exhaled moisture instantly condensing itself into fog, making his lungs feel heavy and oddly cramped. The need to do it all over again in instant replay was progressively bordering on overpowering.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd needed to breathe. Not since...

Oh God.

No. He adamantly shook his head, knowing deep down inside that the probability of what he thought was happening was physically impossible. _Literally_ impossible. The likelihood had always remained well out of his reach and he had to be mistaken. He damn well better be, or else his worst fears would come to light, and the can of worms Buffy had mentioned earlier in passing were going to be so much more than some bleeding allegory. But there was only one way to be sure. One way to alleviate his reservations once and for all.

He carefully shut his eyes, his lips trembling, as he hesitantly positioned his left hand over his heart.

It was beating.

A muffled groan to his right vehemently snapped him out of the immense bout of shock he was presently reeling from, and he saw a certain slayer trying in vain to pick herself up, failing miserably as she sought purchase and attempted to shift her body upright. Their demon, who had instigated the whole sodding thing, had apparently vanished without a single bloody trace. Spike saw absolutely no sign of him in the general vicinity, not exactly figuring him for the kind of wanker who just dropped his prey and ran. He concluded with some regret that he'd gravely underestimated him and his intentions. Sighing, he hurriedly made his way over to her, crouching down to her level and taking her hand in his, gingerly helping raise her to a sitting position. Concern was etched deep across his dark brows as he dared to run the pad of his thumb lightly across the discolored bruise that marred her cheek, her skin exceedingly warm to the touch. "Are you all right, Slayer? Anything broken?"

Steady pools of green met his cautious blues, and she quietly lay her hand over his, giving it a small squeeze to reassure him. If she was at all surprised by his own grip falling short of resembling temperatures reminiscent of the North Pole, she gave no indication, and a huge part of him was strangely relieved. Telling her was inevitable, of course, but the courage he was seeking was relentless in its pursuit to have it remain a closely guarded secret. His and his alone. And frankly, it wasn't as if learning it would change anything between them, so he truthfully had nothing monumental to gain from having a pulse. Nothing at all. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if knowing would make her reconsider throwing the next punch if he should inadvertently get her motor revving and piss her off.

"No," she finally answered. "Well, maybe, I...does a killer headache count?" She relinquished the hold she had on him to inspect his wounded palms, not at all oblivious to the blood stains that had soaked through his worn black jeans. "Looks like you got the worst of it, though."

"Guess I did," Spike acknowledged.

"So where are we?" Buffy continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong. It's not like I'm not majorly grateful our guy decided to make with the leaving so fast and all, but it would've been kinda nice if we could've followed up on it and made him really dead first. Beat him at his own game. Then again, it might've been helpful if we knew what the heck he was even playing at, or...is, and you know what? I'm not making a whole lot of sense right now, am it?"

"Yeah, I actually hear you loud and clear, pet. Unfortunately I don't think we'll get to do that anytime soon, and I sincerely doubt you need me to tell you that what you did was incredibly rash and-"

"I get it, believe me. I do. But hey, sometimes being impulsive has its merits." She smiled at him, hoping for one in return. When he bypassed it, and just stared back at her with what could easily be filed under the category of a monstrous unreadable expression of epic proportions, she was convinced he was blatantly choosing to disregard her for the second time that day, which could only denote one thing. He was hiding something again. The question was _what_.

"What's the last thing you remember?" he prompted.

"About?"

"Our friend gettin' the jump on you," Spike stated.

"I was sort of in and out of it when he went into attack mode," she confessed, shrugging. "And I'm sore all over, which tells me he either tossed me in the dumpster in that alleyway or he introduced my face to solid concrete. Since I don't think I smell like garbage and stink to high heaven, I'll lay claim on scenario number two. Oh, and it was raining pretty hard, too, because your curls are ready to do the Snoopy Dance on the top of your head. Which is probably also something Willow would say." Arriving at the conclusion that she'd just given him a compliment that involved an all too personal observation on her behalf, she resolutely trained her eyes to the ground and bit down hard on her bottom lip. "Are we finished here, by the way? I'd really just like to get back to the apartment and take a shower. I'm all wet and icky. Sure wouldn't say no to a warm meal, either."

Yeah, there was a thought. It hadn't occurred to him that she still didn't have a single clue as to where they were, let alone what she'd gone and gotten herself into, making him more than alert to the fact that there was no easy way to break it to her gently. He narrowed his eyes, hoping to bring the truth home to her in one clean sweep. "Buffy."

"I'm _fine_, Spike, trust me." She studied him, trying desperately to get to the bottom of the intensity his blue eyes kept surveying her with. "Are you? I...I mean, really. Because you're-"

"S'pose that depends," he divulged, cutting her off.

"On what? What's the matter with you?"

"When I saw him grab you, I was convinced you were done for. Saw him draggin' you in here and I panicked."

"What are you talking about? _Here_? Where is here? Where's Angel?"

When he noticed it was belatedly beginning to dawn on her that some details were strangely amiss amid the disarray, he went and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, calmly steering her away from the mess that encircled them, and gave her a good, firm shake to see if could snap her out of it. "Listen to me," he insisted, taking in a long breath before he could stop himself.

"What did you do?"

"You won't like it," he informed her plainly.

"Spike."

"Didn't do anything. It's what _you_ did that got us here. I was just along for the ride."

"So if we're not in L.A., then..."

"Oh, we are," he conceded, nodding. "I just don't think it's the right one."

"Okay, now _you're_ the one who's not making any sense. What the hell is going on? What aren't you saying?" Frowning, she squirmed out of his grasp and extensively allowed herself to take in everything for the first time, the vaguest bit of recognition eventually settling in. It was like déjà vu. A spitting mirror image of someplace she'd been before, right down to the familiar smoke smell that lingered and plagued the air, filling her with anguish. Because the cold, hard truth of it was that she _had_. She'd been here before. Not in the flesh, never in the flesh- but in her mind's eye. A near perfect replication of a world she was disinclined to will into existence because of the disastrous implications it had spelled out following Madame Florea's affirmations. A world destroyed by the very evil that good had failed to protect itself against. One without the tools to overtake whatever had imperiled its chances of survival. Evil that had walked right in of its own accord and triumphed, scoring itself a compliant victory.

"It's my dream," she whispered.

He nodded. "Went through a portal. Angel was busy screamin' at me like the gormless twit he is, but I didn't..." His smile was beautiful, but strained, and when he blinked, there were tears shining in his eyes, causing him to divert them away from her. "Would've followed you to the ends of the earth, if that's what it took. Hell and back. I'd have done anything. Didn't matter so much where I'd end up. Just wanted to...keep you safe. Might not mean that much to you in the grand scheme, and I'm a right jerk for not calling, but if things were diff-"

The wind was rigorously knocked out of him as Buffy threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, bringing herself as close to him as their bodies allowed, pressing her chest flush against his upon uttering a soft moan of contentment. "Shut up, Spike."

He brought his fingers up to delicately clasp the back of her neck, the other hand securing itself tightly around her waist as she straddled him, burying his face in her hair. His heart hammered loudly in his chest, and was beating in tune to her own, the noise reverberating in his ears. It was a wonderful, melodious sound, and it was one he'd almost forgotten altogether, having gone so very long without the pleasure. But it wasn't going to outstay its welcome, and he'd resigned himself to that problematic quandary as soon as it had set up shop in a shell so very hollow and dank.

When he felt her stiffen in his grasp, he reluctantly released his hold on her, her sudden movements indicating she may have been too anxious to register what it was she was doing and was now bemoaning her momentary lapse in judgment. He couldn't blame her there, which was why he knew it wasn't necessary to fill her in on any of the specifics correlating in his transformation to a real boy. No, make that man. Not a monster anymore, but a man. Except that he wasn't, not really. When this wore off, he'd be back to being the fiend he always was. The one who'd never quite earned her stamp of approval. "Are you sure you're okay? Is there something...is everything..."

"Fantastic," he assured her, despite it being a terribly obvious lie. Bugger it, she really hadn't noticed. "Look, we need to find someplace to camp out for the night, pet. At least 'til we can find out what-"

"I'm sorry."

She was also like bloody clockwork, he mused.

"Me too. I...it's...we're friends, yeah?"

"Well, I don't know what we _were_," she admonished thoughtfully, "but it's never been friends, Spike."

"Right, not friends," he acceded. He busied himself with the mundane task of letting his field of vision roam the expanse of the premises as both of them got to their feet, clearly frustrated at the inability to sharpen his senses the way he always managed to do when he'd been on the immortal wavelength. Now he wagered he couldn't pick up a bleeding screwdriver without it backfiring on him. "Better get you away from whatever nasties could be lurking about. If we're in the same spot we were when this happened, then I'd fancy there's a hotel next street over. Maybe it's still operational."

"Were you even gonna let me finish?" she inquired, absentmindedly tapping him square on the chest with her index finger and gracefully reaching up and cupping his face in her hands, her thumbs lovingly grazing his cheekbones. She was staring at him in that same staggering way she had when she'd presented him with the amulet and called him her champion. He'd memorized every vivid bloody detail of that encounter, especially the way in which her green eyes had met his with such unwavering certitude- letting him know she was putting her faith in him to stand by her side and selflessly risk his life to save thousands of others.

"You don't have to say anything. It doesn't-"

"We were never friends, because it was always more than that. The morning you died, the same one we...I...I felt something. I did. Whether you want to believe me or not, I felt it. The last time I saw him in Sunnydale, Angel asked me if I would ever be willing to see if..." She shrugged, smiling, shaking her head back and forth. "None of that matters anymore, does it? I'm all about it not mattering."

"You still love him, though, don't you? Always will, I imagine." He tilted his head to the side, his jaw clenching somewhat. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, Buffy. It explains why you came by the other day, too. You needed to get me out of your system. You wanted your conscience clear, so you could be free to...well, I'm not exactly privy to that, am I? It's between the two of you. Probably all for the best, considering."

"You know, for a vampire who used to claim he always knew what the story was with everybody, you can be pretty dense sometimes."

"Buffy-"

"And damn you, you big jerk, you just keep pushing me away." She shook her head, biting her lip again. "I'd ask you to look me in the eye and tell me, but I bet you'd just make up some weird excuse and start brooding. I've heard it comes with the territory of getting a soul these days."

"Bloody hell, I don't brood." But he almost froze at the declaration regardless, putting both hands up in front of him like an invisible barrier, not quite complacent in terms of where this was going. "What exactly are you still on about, anyway? Thought we-"

"I want you to tell me that you feel nothing for me," she repeated. "Tell me you feel absolutely nothing and I'll let this go. Tell me I'm totally overreacting, that...I don't know, I'm seeing something that isn't there. I won't mention it again. I'll let you go back to living your miserable, sorry, guilt-ridden exis-"

"I can't," he stated rather placidly, his voice barely audible.

A tremendous amount of relief washed over her, and she apprehensively averted her gaze, scared silly of the implications, yet practically begging to hear more. "You..."

He stepped directly into her space, deftly lifting her chin with the tips of his fingers and angling it toward him. "I said, I can't."

"So what does that mean?"

He'd asked something just like that when she'd confronted him about the night they'd spent in each other's arms, finding the solace they so desperately needed at that point in time and not being able to fully comprehend the consequences of their actions. It seemed like so long ago, and back then he probably would've still been ready to take the coward's way out, if only because he'd been so sure she was incapable of returning his affections- substantiated or not. "I'm-"

"It means you place your hands behind your head and get down on your knees," an unusually familiar voice instructed as Spike felt the barrel of a rifle settle itself near his temple, forcing him to the ground.

A/N: I know this is a bit of a turning point in the story and understand that it may not appeal to everybody. But it's also not the last we'll see of Angel or Illyria, so I do urge you to stick around.


	7. Chapter 6: Lost

Chapter Six: Lost

_"Not until we are lost do we begin to understand ourselves."_  
- Henry David Thoreau

"Well, this is one for the record books, isn't it?" Spike inwardly cringed as the debris beneath his kneecaps once again gave way to the displeasure of marring his flesh, struggling as best he could to maintain his equilibrium and carefully clasping his injured hands behind his head in compliance. He wasn't used to taking orders, and it hadn't even occurred to him that losing his inner demon also made him more susceptible to harm, prompting an all too real vulnerability to set in that left him utterly defenseless. _Naked_, for lack of a better term. He still felt like half of himself had been violently stripped away. There was absolutely no trace of the monster he'd carried inside him for over a century. The same monster he'd become as comfortable carrying around with him as if it were a second skin. His first response in a situation like this had always been to retaliate physically, but he could see it honestly wasn't an option here. Not anymore. "Percy's alive and well and thinks he's sodding Rambo."

The man merely adjusted the position of the rifle and applied even more pressure to Spike's temple, shifting his stance only slightly in the process. "The name is Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, and you'd be wise to only speak when spoken to."

He smirked. "Anyone ever tell you you're a lot more fun when you're not so uptight, mate? Not to mention, there's that whole thing where you're supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, there seems to be a lot of that going around lately," Buffy muttered, shooting him a curious glance and raising an accusatory eyebrow.

Spike sighed, stealing a quick glimpse of her to his right, her eyes nearly level with his from her place beside him in the rubble. "Do we really have to go through the girl power bit again, love? Thought we'd reached an understanding there. I already explained everything to you back at the bar. You know it, you heard it. Way I figure it, there's nothing more to say."

"Really?" she admonished, her tone obviously in reference to the previous conversation they were in the process of having before the man behind them had taken that precise moment to intervene. "Nothing at all?"

He tightly clenched his jaw in frustration, tensing somewhat. "Have you somehow managed to miss the fact that I've got a very nasty gun pointed at my head? Don't exactly fancy finding myself in pieces on the bleeding sidewalk."

Before she even had a chance to question his logic in terms of how their opponent's preferred weapon of choice would do little more than temporarily incapacitate him, a piercing unearthly howl invaded and filled the night air. It sent the faintest of shivers up her spine, and she unknowingly found herself holding her breath until it passed, her back going ramrod straight.

"He's right," Wesley stated quietly, his attention only momentarily diverted by the interruption, but not the least bit fazed by it. "Considering the unfortunate circumstances you've found yourselves in, I highly doubt either of you are in any position to argue. Curfew was two hours ago. I don't know how you got here, and right now I don't care. When darkness falls, the world belongs to them. In the rare instance they've sent you on their behalf, it can only mean that they're getting stronger, and our location may be compromised a great deal sooner than I expected."

"Well, I don't know who _they_ are," Buffy reasoned, "but I was just dragged through a portal by an ugly green demon. Don't suppose Oscar was a friend of yours?"

"Oscar?"

"The Grouch? You know, Sesame Street? Because he was, you know. All big and grouchy and a guy of few words, too, apparently."

"He's one of theirs," Wesley confirmed, nodding. "However, I'd surmise you were already aware of that. Just as I'd surmise the two of you know a lot more than you're saying at the moment. But it's of no consequence to me, really," he murmured, which seemed to be more to himself than to her. "I'd imagine they sent you in as bait, so I'm perfectly within my right to view you as a threat."

"There's the they again. Yeah, see, you still haven't told me who _they_ are yet. So if I had to guess, I'd say it's of the bad." To his astonishment, she began to pick herself up off of the tarnished pavement, lightly dusting her palms upon the legs of her jeans. "To be fair, I've decided I'm going to give you exactly two minutes to start talking before I test my first theory and kick your ass."

"You've got an awfully smart mouth on you," he mused. "But trust me when I say it's imperative that you refrain from using it in this particular part of town. You don't want to draw the wrong kind of attention to yourself. Even if you're not working for them, you're still nothing more than a meal, and one they'd happily consume for breakfast."

"Yeah, and did I by any chance mention that those two minutes started, oh...right about now?" she tossed back at him rather fluidly.

"Buffy? Love?" Spike beckoned, his patience slowly slipping away. "Before you decide to dig us a hole that goes straight through to China, you might want to hear the bloke out first."

She fixed him with an emerald green gaze, her eyes full of challenge. "Since when did you suddenly go all level-headed about this? I thought Spike and rules were unmixy things. You don't follow them and you never have. Why start now?"

"Bloody buggering hell, woman. _Yes_. If it means we can get away from whatever beastie is scampering around out there, I'm willing to go along with whatever the village idiot here has to say. Got me?"

"Buffy? Buffy Summers?" Wesley inquired, shock noticeably evident in his voice as he gradually began lowering the rifle, his demeanor changing considerably as an emotion that vaguely resembled guilt fell across his face. He silently shook his head, running a hand across the five o'clock shadow that graced his countenance, his eyes widening as something unspoken seemed to dawn on him.

"Yeah, sorry to disappoint, but that's me. Although, honestly Wes? The other you would've already known that."

"Other me?" he repeated, bewildered.

"Never mind. Look, the point is, you know my name, and we've clearly never met before. At least, not _here_, anyway, so what gives? Am I some kind of wanted fugitive or something? Because if I am, I can safely tell you I didn't do it."

"No, it's...it's nothing like that," he assured her, the hint of a smile barely creasing the corners of his mouth and threatening to overtake his waning frown. "It's just that the information I've received is proving to be of much greater importance than I'd initially foreseen. You see, I've never really been one to put stock in the belief that there is indeed a higher power out there looking out for us, but on evidence to the contrary, it would appear there've been portents of your arrival for days. We were informed by a seer in our group that a savior would soon be among us- a young woman. Before she was...brutally ravaged by The Plague, the last words she spoke were your name. She died in my arms, and you were her dying breath, Miss Summers. Now, speaking of what she knew and when she knew it, I doubt it was for naught. You're welcome to prove me wrong, of course, but I'm under the impression that you could be of great help to us."

Overhearing the especially grave nature in which Wesley was addressing Buffy, Spike ventured any danger they'd proposed to the other man had long since passed, and he discreetly pulled himself up into a standing position. Wincing from the pain that continued to aggravate his tired muscles and abrasions, he stole a glimpse of their captor for the first time since they'd been accosted by his rifle. He was practically the spitting image of the Wesley who'd met his end trying to take out the infamous Cyvus Vail, his attire consisting of a simple beige wool sweater with a small hole present near the neckline, and a pair of dark blue jeans. On his feet, he wore a pair of brown boots that must've seen better days, the laces now horribly frayed and just barely holding them together.

"Plague?" he asked the demon hunter, shaking his head. "As in bubonic?"

"It's what they call themselves," Wesley answered. "They were essentially a mistake, an abomination. Their two halves were never meant to co-exist on this plane. Once they began breeding, however, their numbers rapidly increased and they began to spread."

"Like a plague," Spike reiterated.

"Precisely."

"Okay, that's all really fascinating and everything," Buffy acknowledged, "but how exactly am I supposed to fight these guys when we don't even know what their weaknesses are? And hey, hello- what makes you think I'd actually _want_ to? I know I don't need to remind you that I was practically thrown in here against my will. It's not the kind of thing that really motivates me to jump in the ring and go all destructo girl on them."

"Silver, which has managed to work successfully to our advantage. Though it has, as of yet, to make a dent in the overall population. They're part werewolf and part Fyarl demon. The green demon you encountered earlier is merely a follower, and while his species currently remains unknown to us, we have it on good authority there are several of them that often do The Plague's bidding in exchange for cash. Fyarls alone aren't recognized for their intelligence, but when coupled with werewolf DNA it no longer becomes an issue."

"Fyarls, huh? Gee, great, and just when I thought this couldn't possibly suck any more than it already does."

"Well, pet, this is hardly new territory for you, considering your Watcher was one once upon a time, yeah? Lucky for the both of us, I happen to be well-versed in that area myself."

She gave him a bemused look. "Oh, really?"

"What?" he protested, trying not to sound offended. "I'll have you know I had a couple of 'em workin' for me once. They're all about destroying stuff, wanting to crush it- which I s'pose is the reason their IQ's go all wonky. But their Superman strength more than makes up for the lack of that wanker Clark Kent. They're a kind of...demonic foot soldier. Not sure why they've got the mini Hulk doing their chores when it's usually the other way around, but it could be a hybrid thing. They've also got this paralyzing mucus that spews out from their noses. Makes itself all durable like rock."

"Let me just take this time to say, yes, I remember, and also eww," Buffy added, offering the briefest of shudders before she went and scrunched up her own nose in complete disgust.

Spike thought it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen, but chose to keep that little observation to himself for now, trying with all his bleeding willpower not to stare at her like some sodding lovestruck schoolboy. He always seemed to be irrevocably lost when it came to her- and really, that was the rub, wasn't it? He didn't think it was possible, but she was truly on the verge of being more open with him here than she'd been during the entire duration of whatever complicated arrangement they were willfully engaging in prior to him seeking out his soul- not to mention what they'd gone and developed between them afterwards. He'd failed to keep track of just how many different scenarios he'd played out in his head with the progress they might've made had things transpired a bit differently following the battle with The First. Like if he'd actually _survived_, for starters.

"Indeed," Wesley supplied, agreeing with her. "Tell me, mister-"

"Spike. Just Spike," he abruptly cut him off, reluctantly shifting his own attention away from the slayer.

"How is it that you found yourself in the company of such a creature when they typically only serve vampires or other demons?"

He grinned and deliberately cocked his head to the side in response. "Sorry, mate, but I don't exactly make it a habit to disclose my deepest darkest secrets to just anyone, and I can't see that you warrant an exception. Although, since we _do_ seem to be on the path to becoming fast friends and all, I'm actually more interested in what breed of werewolf we're dealing with. Past affiliations with said creatures aside, of course."

"Secrets don't stay buried forever, Mr. Spike."

"No, they don't. But there are ways to rectify that." He narrowed his eyes, watching the other man closely. "Care to find out?"

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, seconds away from scoffing at the feeble impedance. "Oh, what? Like what you are isn't-"

"What breed of werewolf?" he interjected, tossing her an oddly persistent cerulean glare, while dutifully reminding himself that he was the only one who was presently aware that his extensive years of vampirism hadn't left any evidence behind when they'd up and flat out disappeared on him. What he was having trouble comprehending on top of all that, was the way in which the injuries he'd sustained less than an hour ago were remarkably beginning to heal of their own accord in spite of his composition being thoroughly altered.

"Lycanthropus Exterus," Wesley explained. "Which is simply Latin for foreign lycanthrope."

"Like Nina," he deduced plainly.

"Nina?" Buffy echoed. "Who the heck is Nina?"

"Nina is Angel's-" Spike immediately halted any explanation that would have come barreling out of his mouth and instead cleared his throat in earnest. "On second thought, never mind. It's not relevant, is it? But they're bipeds. Canine-like head, elongated snout, longer canine teeth. Not covered in nearly as much fur as common werewolves, either."

"Yes. They went undocumented for years in these parts, but we're convinced the only reason the existence of one finally surfaced when it did, was because it was transported here as a lab experiment. Though in some circles, I'd imagine they'd also make the perfect delicacy at a banquet as well. While their...test subject may have started out human and waited out the quintessential cycle each month in captivity, I'm afraid whatever was human about it no longer applies. It adapted to the harsh trials it was likely put through in order to retain its monstrous form on a more permanent basis, thus allowing for procreation with the Fyarl. Typically, when killed, the Lycanthropus Exterus should return to its original state. Of the hybrids we've taken out already, it was just the opposite. Each one maintained its genetically altered makeup postmortem with no change."

"So what you see, is essentially what you get," Buffy suggested. "They stayed in their demonic form. There was nothing human about it. They're human half was basically erased. Pure demon, through and through."

"I'm normally not one to beg, Miss Summers, but I'm thinking you may be able to be of some assistance to us. Perhaps we can help each other. There's someone I'd like you to meet. The sooner we get there, the safer we'll be. She's dedicated months of research to the cause."

"The cause?" Spike questioned. "Just what are you aimin' at here, Percy? It's kill or be killed, you said it yourself. Why in the bleeding hell would you risk your own life to try and cure an army you can't even begin to fight?"

"If we succeed in finding an antidote to return their humanity, people won't have to go into hiding anymore, and we can take back the city. Rid these creatures of something they have no control over."

"Yeah, okay, and just how do you propose we do that when tearing out our throats is already pretty high on the list? These are pureblood demons you're dealing with. They have no conscience and they don't respond to reason. Any _humanity_ that was present died the minute the Fyarl and werewolf went at it like sodding rabbits. Violence overwhelms instinct."

Another howl infiltrated the air, and Buffy's fingers frantically reached for Spike's duster, embedding her nails deep within the leather residing over his chest, the high pitched wail vastly becoming terribly unnerving. Without giving it much thought, and he'd been doing a right lot of that in the last day or so, he brought his hand up around the small of her waist and edged her closer to him. Much to his amazement, he felt her body progressively start to relax as she leaned in, and he could have sworn he saw her draw in the faintest of breaths as she moved in to sniff his coat.

"Please, come with me. We have to hurry. They've already tracked us here and they're getting closer. They're stronger in packs. I don't have any weapons besides the one I'm carrying, and it won't be nearly enough to stop them."

"Is it far?" Buffy arently queried, absentmindedly grabbing a hold of Spike's hand and placing it in one of her own. She barely took note of the flabbergasted expression that was etched across his handsome face as a result of her impulsive actions. The first thing that actually struck her was that he was distinctly warm to the touch, and rather than contemplate why, she hurriedly pushed any concerns that might stem from it to the very back of her mind and declined to speculate any further. New universe, new rules. That had to be it. It must be it.

There was something else bugging her, too, but it just wasn't a priority right now and it could wait. Probably.

Finding shelter, on the other hand, was practically a given that required no second guessing.

"Several blocks away," Wesley responded, as he urged them to start following him. "An abandoned warehouse. Rather compact, but it works. One of our witches has placed an energy barrier over it and you'll need to be granted access by her personally to enter. It's just a precautionary measure. We have food and clean clothes and you're more than welcome to use the facilities as you see fit. I realize it's not much, but we've come to call it home."

"No, it...it sounds really nice," she tried hopefully. "But speaking of getting home, do you-"

"I've made a few modifications and we have power, running water," he went on, proficiently navigating them through the deserted city, mindful of every corner as they rounded bends and covered the dangerous terrain. "I've a few extra cots stored in the basement, too. I can bring them up and get them ready for you."

"What happened to the others?" Spike pressed.

"Others?"

"_Yeah_. See, I don't wager you're able to fit every bloody body in your makeshift housing plan, and Los Angeles isn't exactly lacking there, is it?" He gestured to indicate the surrounding area, his blue eyes sadly taking note of the boarded up windows and doors of establishments where business had likely thrived in a time when the situation had been far less complicated. The emptiness was overpowering and equally haunting in its own right. "Where are the rest?"

"A great many were captured and devoured," the demon hunter affirmed somberly. "Those that proved useless to them were simply killed for sport, their corpses dismembered and left just beyond the gates of our sanctuaries as a warning to us all. They taunt us, Mr. Spike, and they get pleasure from it. It's not in their nature to see it any other way. There are more survivors, but as a rule, we choose not to reveal our locations. It's a sort of pact we've devised between us, and it's quite sacred. We rarely keep in contact for this purpose alone."

"And your crew?"

"There are twelve of us, one of which is a child. She awoke from sleep three months ago to witness the horror of her mother and father being slaughtered to death in their bedroom. She doesn't..._hasn't_ talked since we found her covered in their blood and took her into our home. God only knows why they spared her, but I suspect she must have been hiding as she watched. We've done everything we can to ease the pain of the traumatic experience for her, hoping to eventually distance her from it. So far nothing has worked and she's having absolutely none of it."

"What's her name?" Buffy asked, her voice a fraction above a whisper.

"A plate over the door to her room said Noelle. I suspect she can't be more than six years old. Such a pretty little thing, too. Really is a pity we're unable to do more for her."

"Maybe I can talk to her. Maybe if she-"

"I know you mean well," he conceded. "I do. Unfortunately, I just don't believe it'll do any good. Of course, you're still more than welcome to try. I can't promise she'll be receptive to the idea, but it's certainly worth a shot."

"I have a younger sister back- well, where I'm from. She...it's complicated, but she wasn't always my sister. When she found out the truth, she didn't want anything to do with me, or with any of us, really. It took awhile to convince her she had a place with us. A connection."

He nodded, his back to them, as they made their way across an intersection littered with overturned trash cans and what appeared to be piles of brick and siding from nearby houses that had in all likelihood been raided and ripped to shreds by the demons that now claimed the city as their own. "It's the nightmares, mostly. She has at least one every night, and it's become quite the task to persuade her that they're not real. She's glimpsed these monsters with her own eyes and she's seen the damage they've done to those she cared deeply for."

"This it?" Spike surveyed the dilapidated structure in front of him, thick pieces of wood nailed shut and protecting each narrow window, several pairs of steel bars having been meticulously secured over the wood with the obvious intention of making sure whatever wanted in, definitely stayed out. The vibrant white that had once lined the steel edifice was severely chipped and dented, a mountain of graffiti spanning its entire length- some of which was cluttered with profanity. The sign a mere few feet away was uprooted and lay on its side, the plastic riddled with hundreds of tiny cracks. Given his thoroughly ingrained abhorrence to places of worship for reasons made plainly clear over the course of his existence, he was thoroughly relieved to see that the church across the street had seemingly been eliminated from the refuge options altogether.

Vampires were bordering on condemned when the Almighty came out to play, and although he had since made himself immune to the indescribable pain that came from having a bleeding cross rest comfortably in the palm of his bare hands, it was the first time in a long time that it wouldn't be stripping his flesh to the bone as it burned him. Truth be told, there was some merit in that, and he was going to cling to it for all it was worth.

"Yes, I'll let her know you're here." Wesley walked up the steps leading to a door that was adorned with the same provisions as the windows within its vicinity, loosely pulling something small out of his pocket and mumbling to himself while he enclosed his fingers around it. A bright flash of light emerged from the fist he made, and the door gave way as soon as it subsided.

"Well, how about that?" Spike contemplated quietly. "Guess all we need's a sodding stone and we're in."

"Maybe she can send us back," Buffy hinted. "I mean, powerful witch and everything, right? If she's anything like Willow, it might not be so bad. We could find Angel and Illyria in time for dinner."

He averted her eyes, scowling slightly. "I know you miss him, pet, but now really isn't-"

"The funny part in all this, is that I'm getting the feeling you don't even want to. Leave, that is." She bit her bottom lip, at odds with herself even as she tried to hold back the tears that were brimming in her eyes. "Would I really be so wrong to think it, because it's not like I could beg you not to anymore, or...or try to prevent it. You don't answer to anyone, and sooner or later, they all leave. Everybody does, and you have this little piece of your heart reserved just for them in case they come back, but they never do. Maybe it's still me. Dead or alive, I can't ever seem to get it together."

"Wait, what are you- where in the bloody hell is this coming from?" Spike gently grabbed a hold of her shoulders, warily crouching down so he was level with her, forcing himself to meet her afflicted gaze. "You have to stop doing this to yourself, do you hear me? Soldier Boy left 'cuz he was a right git who didn't deserve you. Best of luck to him and the wife, too. Granted, I don't know what the two of you talked about when he came back, but none of that matters now. 'Sides, we both know Angel was too self-involved for his own good sometimes, and whatever that meant for the two of you was never..." He closed his eyes, as he worked to right himself, desperately hoping he didn't botch it up. "Might be feasible that he'd be ready to take a crack at it now, though I couldn't say. But you're not to blame, Buffy, and if you paid the slightest bit of attention to what I told you that night, you'd know you're your own woman, and you owe it to yourself to just accept that. I don't know why you've given yourself cause to doubt what you're capable of again, but God help me, you're still the one. Know you're not my girl, but it doesn't mean I can't say it."

She smiled, incredibly touched by his blunt admission. It was a great big beautiful smile that she so rarely surrendered to when she wasn't trying in vain to keep her guard up, and one he'd missed so dearly that it made him ache inside. She might not want to see it, but deep down, she'd always been his girl. There was simply no one who understood her better than he did.

"I never used to think that far ahead," she breathed. "I told Angel that once. I'd just kicked Caleb's ass and there we were, having it out about you getting your soul back and him wanting to know where he stood with me. I thought that I just wasn't cut out for making it work with someone."

"You don't have to tell me any of this. It doesn't-"

"It does matter. You're constantly going on and on about it _not_ mattering, but it does, Spike. While you were in my heart, you were also in my head. I went to Rome with Dawn, thinking that if I thought about it hard enough- really, _really_ hard...that I could get you out, and I could leave Sunnydale behind me while I rounded up those slayers for the greater good. But as determined as I was, as stubborn as I was, I really should've taken a page out of my own stupid Buffy handbook. That night before the big day? In the basement, when we...sat there and talked about nothing, really- maybe it was simmering somewhere even then." She laughed suddenly, as if she were doing what she could to relieve the apprehension that obstinately lingered. "I don't think I'd ever just _talked_ to someone like that for so long- especially not you. We kind of just _were_ at first. We basically went on pounding the crap out of each other and tried to alleviate the guilt with sex. It wasn't healthy. It- you know, you accused me back at your apartment of looking for what isn't there anymore, and in a way, you're right. It's something more now, and whatever it is, took the place of me thinking I had it all wrapped up in a nice shiny bow. No bows for Buffy."

Rather than yield to her just yet, he simply tilted his head, his blue eyes staring at her quite intently and heedfully searching for purpose. "Did it work?"

"Did what work?" she replied, dumbfounded.

"Am I still there? Your head and your heart? Though, I s'pose the bigger question here is if I'm gonna stay."

"Angel told you about the cookie dough speech, didn't he?"

"Cookie dough?" he repeated, tring to feign disinterest. "I'm afraid I don't..."

"See, I knew it! He so told you. Between the two of you, you're, like, ten times worse than Andrew."

"Thought my comment the other night would've given me away. Though I s'pose being a bit preoccupied by Captain Forehead may have taken a bit of the punch out of it."

"Very funny."

He raised a dark brow somewhat teasingly, invading her space and reminding her of the alleyway, his lips close to hers. "Done baking, are we?"

She blushed a shade of red then, and he just couldn't resist cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand, his thumb hesitant at first as it began to gingerly caress her skin. Buffy leaned into his touch, wholeheartedly welcoming it and professing the softest of sighs in response, her eyes closing as she breathed him in. It occurred to her not for the first time that day, that his touch was unlike anything she'd felt before. Something about him was definitely different. Before she could collect herself enough to ease her worries and run it by him, she caught sight of a woman exiting the warehouse and headed in their general direction. A very..._familiar_ woman.

"Buffy Summers, I assume?" She was of average height, and her long, straight blonde hair ran just below her shoulders, her blue eyes friendly and subtly gleaming with a silent kind of intensity. She wore a thin pink sweater over a floral dress, a pair of short black boots occupying her feet. She shyly held out her hand toward the slayer, a half smile present on her delicate features. "Tara Maclay."

"You're the witch Wesley told us about."

"I am," she enlightened her. "We've been waiting for you. Kaia spoke of you r-right before..." She paused when sadness took flight upon her face, almost as if she were trying hard not to slip into the prospect of reminiscing. "Right before we lost her. She told us you were destined to be here. Don't recall her mentioning your friend, though. He's with you, isn't he? Wesley seemed unsure about him, but I don't see how, because-"

"Gonna have a nice little chat about me like I'm not even here, Glinda?"

"I'm sorry," she added, already quite embarrassed, but attempting another smile upon hearing the endearing nickname. "I'm not exactly good at...w-we should go in, shouldn't we?"

"All's forgiven," he chimed in, swiftly shrugging it off and matching her smile with one of his own. "Just don't like being given the brush-off is all."

"You might have to give him a more thorough invitation," Buffy disclosed.

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's...well, he's- would extremely undead British guy suffice for now?"

"A vampire?" Tara echoed, seemingly confused. "Are you sure? I mean, it's just that I can usually tell."

"He has a soul," she brought forth, as if she suspected that minor revelation would truly help in some way.

"Yeah, I sort of got that part," the witch let on, her grin growing wider, "especially since he's human."


	8. Chapter 7: Pretend

Chapter Seven: Pretend

_"It is foolish to pretend that one is fully recovered from a disappointed passion. Such wounds always leave a scar."_  
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"Thought I'd find you out here."

Without bothering to glance behind him, Spike professed a quick grin as he merely shrugged, taking a long drag from the cigarette clasped loosely between his fingers. Exhaling a thick stream of smoke, he eagerly welcomed the faint breeze that touched his countenance from the second floor vantage point of the warehouse, shutting his eyes as he continued to allow himself the simple pleasure of indulging in it. It was the one door that hadn't been awarded the same precautions as the rest of the establishment, and when he'd gone and picked the heavy padlock that adorned it, a narrow balcony of sorts had awaited and greeted him on the other side. He hadn't caught sight of or heard any of the nasties Percy spoke of prowling about the neighborhood, but surmised the barrier had already been working its magic to protect them from an incoming attack.

The former vampire casually leaned his slender frame into the rusted white railing, still feeling somewhat out of place in faded jeans with holes carved into each knee, and a thick black v-neck sweater over a ratty white t-shirt. The only part of his wardrobe that he hadn't been forced to abandon apart from his duster, were his black boots- and he exultantly wore them with a certain kind of pride. They were one of two pieces of himself that remained intact prior to losing more than just a small scrap of his existence. "Not much for crowds these days, pet."

"Not much for crowds," Tara repeated knowingly, "or Buffy?"

Spike very nearly laughed, his blues choosing that precise moment to gaze up at the stars that lined and mapped out the night sky, fairly contemplative. "That obvious, is it?"

"Well, your aura is practically an open book," she informed him, smirking somewhat. "Also, just for future reference, it kind of tends to really throw a person when you're not c-completely honest with them, too."

"Right then. Remind me never to try charades," he quipped.

"You should f-find her. Talk to her."

"Wouldn't do a bit of good. When she's got her mind set on something, such as ignoring and starin' sodding daggers at yours truly," the former vampire added, using his thumb to indicate himself, "becomin' a real boy doesn't exactly rank high in the grand scheme now, does it? Which was also probably why I wasn't about to shout it from the rooftops that I've got a bleeding pulse. If anyone understands, I suspect it would be you. Leave it alone. You're better off for it."

"You're pretty good at deflecting," she told him, "but you forget that I can still see right through you."

"Is that right?" he snapped, spoken a tad more vicious than he'd initially intended. Quickly realizing that it had indeed come out a smidgeon too harsh, his features softened considerably, almost apologetically, and he attempted to coolly feign indifference. "You know, on second thought, do whatever you bloody well like. Just don't do it _here_. Got it?"

Not to be deterred by the uncertainty that was rolling off of him in waves, Tara hesitantly moved closer, lightly placing a timid hand upon his shoulder. She was more than a little surprised when he didn't tense up and try to pull away. "I felt a c-closeness between the two of you that I find hard to explain. An attachment. It's...so clear, really. And if you were w-who she says you were, you should want her dead. Buffy's a slayer, and from what I can tell, a slayer is supposed to slay vampires. Sunlight, stake to the heart, or decapitation. I'm told fire works good, too."

"Points for the lady in pink," he mumbled, bringing the cigarette to his lips again. "But seeing as you clearly already know all this, why in the hell are you still yammering about it to me for?"

"We've only ever heard of slayers as being the stuff of legends. The kind our parents used to read us stories about when we were kids. I've n-never even seen one up close, but Wesley has. Maybe that's when he knew Kaia was right about Buffy."

"Oh good, 'cuz the next thing you'll probably be telling me is that you've never seen one period, and God knows-"

"I haven't," she confessed.

He angled his body towards her, frowning as he raised an inquisitive brow, promptly ridding himself of his wilted cigarette and crushing it neatly under the toe of his boot. "Come again, love?"

"It's true. They came and wiped them out around the time I was born. I don't remember much about it, really, but we're convinced it was another experiment. It must've been a lot more successful than The Plague, too, because we haven't seen one since. There's been the occasional s-sighting in other cities, but we haven't ventured out that far to confirm them. Well, one of us tried, but he just barely made it back with supplies. That was a few weeks ago."

"They've boxed you in, surrounded you."

"Yes."

"You have any idea who's responsible?" he tried, his mind currently waging an internal battle inside him as he found himself struggling to get a firm grasp on the reality of the situation, not quite believing what he was actually hearing.

"It was the lawyers."

"The lawyers," he repeated, baffled. "Afraid you'll have to be somewhat more specific, as I don't-"

"Kaia called them Senior Partners," Tara informed him. "She told us they came and made Los Angeles theirs. We th-think they're working with an outside party now, too, because something or someone has been rallying the demons together lately, getting them all...up in arms. It might be how you were able to cross over so easily, as their attention has been elsewhere. But that's Fred's department mostly. She's really into it. She's under the impression that the veil b-between our worlds is thinning. Growing weaker. It could also be why you're no longer a vampire. Maybe there's no need for them here anymore."

"Senior Partners, as in _Wolfram and Hart_ Senior Partners?"

"Y-you've heard of them?" she returned, her expression conveying nothing short of amazement.

"Yeah, sure. Poncy bastards. They, uh..." He paused, trying to whittle it down to the most basic of explanations. "Let's just say they've caused their fair share of problems in our world, too. Matter of fact, they still are. Has Angel's knickers all in a twist. He's a vampire, too, but unbeknownst to him, also a real pain in the ass." When Tara didn't offer anything in return and simply stared at him after that, he gradually found himself becoming uncomfortable in her presence, her cerulean eyes intent and unwavering. He sighed, still on the fence about whether or not to mentally ream himself for even considering the possibility of pulling out another cigarette. Bollocks. "Look, whatever you've got to say, say it. We're both adults here."

"I'm not trying to-"

"Out with it, Glinda."

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Spike was utterly gobsmacked. It usually took a little more than that to ruffle his feathers, and while he deduced she would arrive there eventually, he hadn't expected her to draw any conclusions so cut and dry this soon. Maybe he really was starting to lose his touch. He used to be much harder to read, but even Buffy herself had started to dig past the surface of the front he'd put up, and that alone was more than enough to unnerve him. "Can't say that didn't come flying out of nowhere, though I'd bet good money no one ever faults you for being direct."

"No, and I like to think it's a gift," she responded with a smile, inadvertently raising her shoulders in a shrug.

"In that case, it's complicated," he finally confessed, addressing the query for what it was.

"Really?" she deadpanned, gracing him with a pointed look. "Because I hadn't noticed that the first time I brought it up."

He rolled his eyes. "Every time we...get close, she pulls away. See her for who she is and wouldn't dream of askin' her to change. She knew it back then and she knows it now. I've seen just about every side there is. Tried to forget about her for awhile and talked a _real_ good game of moving on, but it's always the same, isn't it? She's that missing piece that'll always bloody fit. Whether or not she wants it to, is entirely up to her. Ball's in her court."

"It should be impossible," Tara reminded him. "Mortal enemies?"

"Yeah, well, you might've had me there if I was your typical vampire," he reasoned softly. "Went and got myself a soul for her and endured the trials required. Already fell hard even without it, but it took some time to convince her of that fact, 'cuz the bossy little bint was havin' none of it. Of course, chaining her up and tryin' to force her to like me probably wasn't the best way to go about it, either. But that was a long time ago. Things are different."

"Is accelerated healing also n-normal for humans where you come from?"

"For a slayer," Spike murmured, although he wasn't entirely sure what she was trying to get at. "But those stories your mum and dad read you would've satisfied that curiosity plenty."

"You had blood on your clothes when Wesley brought you here," she observed. "It was dried blood, but it was still blood. Your blood. I mean you're d-definitely human, I can sense that. Although I- I'm sort of inclined to believe there's something else at work here. I was kind of hoping you thought so, too, which was why I was going to suggest that you have Fred take a look at you."

"Take a look at me?" he echoed, even more perplexed, as he reached out a hand once again to steady himself upon the railing. "What, is she psychic, too? Gonna tell me my life's ambitions and all that rot?"

"Not unless that's what qualifies for a scientist these days," the witch said in jest. "In all honesty, though, she's just really well educated. Puts a lot of us to shame, actually."

He grinned. "Isn't that nice."

"Yep, and it's no surprise that Wesley's practically smitten. He always behaves like this big b-bumbling idiot around her, but it's really cute. He hopes one day that she'll start to see it, too, but she's just so involved with her work that even sonnets wouldn't faze her. He was on the verge of writing one the other day. I told him it wouldn't do any good to bother. Fred loves her books."

"Would it be too much to ask the poof to stick the sonnet _inside_ the sodding book?"

Tara only shook her head. "She'd probably just think it was part of the book."

"So why the bleeding need to come out here for some chit-chat?" he asked, cutting right to the chase. "Too boring for you in there, is it?"

"No, not at all. I- it's just...I just w-wanted to tell you that we're honored to have you on our side." She stole a glance back towards the door she'd come through. "We have a training room, too, you know. Wesley set it up himself. I figure it could be fun to talk shop with you. You might be able to give us a new perspective. Set us on the r-right path or something."

"_Uh huh_. Well, if you're so giddy with anticipation, why aren't you down there attending their little cub scout meeting? Way you make it sound, I thought you'd be there with bloody bells on your feet."

"Oh, it's basically just formalities for the first ten minutes. They probably haven't even gotten to the good stuff yet."

"Won't be wearing a nametag," he warned jokingly.

"Don't worry, they're not mandatory. Either is attendance, but I think it boosts morale."

"Wouldn't want to disappoint then, would we?"

"You know, you m-might also want to think about quitting, too."

He tilted his head in bafflement, caught off guard at the statement. "Beg your pardon, pet?"

"The smoking? Seeing as you're mortal now, those things sort of have a tendency to kill you. Or so I've been told."

"S'pose I hadn't really thought that through yet, yeah? Been so used to just-" He stopped abruptly, mimicking the repetitious action of putting one to his mouth and flipping open an imaginary lighter, nodding to himself out of what she presumed must have been a spot of guilt. "Right. Yeah. Guess that'll come in time, won't it?"

"What's she like?"

"Buffy?"

"No, the...the other me. Is she a witch, too? I mean, does she have-"

"She's dead," Spike muttered, immediately regretting the bluntness of his admission, but wanting to be upfront with her about it just the same. It was quite the enigma, really. The truth of it was, he really had no sodding clue how it felt to know you were alive and well in one reality and had tragically perished in the next. If there'd been a William or a Spike here- depending upon whether or not he'd already gone through some kind of soulful transformation, he assumed he'd been dealt with and discarded long ago. His being a vampire would've allowed nothing but ash to remain as a result of meeting his end. He wondered if it was what was currently permitting his existence in this universe without causing a paradox. Another part of him shuddered to think about how another Buffy, a second Buffy, may have met her pre-destined fate. More importantly, at the hands of what or..._whom_. He sincerely hoped the other him didn't have a thing to do with it, as it would've been impossible to shed tears on behalf of a woman he never really knew. That, he realized, would've been the real tragedy. Maybe she was never even chosen to fight that darkness.

"How?" Her voice was just above a whisper.

"She was shot by a bullet meant for the slayer," he answered, refusing to sugarcoat it. "But are you sure you want to- I mean there are other things we could be discussing here, love. No need to dredge up less than pleasant memories. Don't want to be troubling yourself with it. You and your lot have more than enough to deal with already."

"What else can you tell me about her?"

"I just don't think we should be-"

"Please? Something. Anything," she pressed, her determination plainly evident in her eyes. "Even the tiniest detail."

"Bugger it." Spike let out a breath, her persistence on the matter already starting to get to him despite his ever growing reluctance to speak freely about it. Not to mention addressing a woman who was practically a stranger to him, her name notwithstanding. "For one thing, she looked just like you."

Tara smiled, doing her best to hold back a laugh.

"Glad I could help," he put forth somewhat awkwardly.

"C'mon," she urged him. "I'll take you to see Fred. If Wesley asks, it was my fault you missed the meeting. We can always catch you up to speed on the latest happenings t-tomorrow."

"Thanks ever so," he proclaimed dryly. But any happiness he'd just experienced in that very brief moment was cut terribly short when he proceeded to trail the witch back through the door and nearly collided with what appeared to be an extremely perturbed vampire slayer.

"Gee, sounds like I missed something really interesting."

Tara nervously glanced from one to the other, instantly sensing that this was something she really didn't want to be getting herself involved in, refusing to come between the two of them for what was clearly a big misunderstanding on Buffy's part. But rather than come to the defense of the man who stood no more than a foot away from her, who even now was looking as if someone had just stolen his brand new puppy, she instead chose a more abrupt approach to extract herself from the insanity that was bound to follow. "I'll j-just let Fred know you might be a little late."

Spike acknowledged her with a careful nod before returning to and setting his sights on the petite woman in front of him. She was once again placing her tiny hands upon her slender hips in what was likely a failed attempt at trying to conceal a surprising bit of jealousy. If he wasn't already familiar with a firsthand account of just how vile and downright hurtful she could be when she wanted, he may have even found it particularly humorous- especially considering the circumstances. But he knew he could also work that to his advantage. And maybe if she stopped being so bloody beautiful when she was angry, he might even be able to concentrate properly when he put his plan into action.

"Guess you did," he finally uttered in response to her earlier inquest. "But we decided it was probably best not to pursue a romantic relationship based solely on lust. That said, I think I must have missed my chance. Right nice bird. You'd like her, or at least you did when she was alive in our world, in any case."

Her green eyes flashed, before narrowing themselves into tiny slits. "Oh, please. That isn't- it's not, I can't...it's not like I really believed-"

"No? 'Cuz I could have sworn you did. Actin' all high and mighty when...you're nervous, aren't you?"

"Why didn't you tell me?" she hissed.

"Didn't think you'd much care that I went out to have a smoke, love. You can't stand the bleeding habit and you were exceedingly busy gettin' yourself all chummy with our new friends. Figured you wouldn't fancy me interrupting the small talk."

"I _mean_," she emphasized, rapidly shaking her head at his inability to comprehend her, her tone quieter yet not without an edge. "Why didn't you tell me you were human? Hello, you idiot. It's kind of a really big deal! Then again, you didn't even have the decency to tell me you were back, so I should've seen this coming. The probability was off the charts the minute you started being coy guy. I thought we were past that. I thought you trusted me enough to know you could confide in me. We used to, you know."

His own eyes remained impassive. "Used to do a lot of things."

"If I didn't think that I'd actually break your nose for real this time, I might strongly consider giving it a go. Maybe it's because we no longer have the option of finding a good hospital." She was suddenly beyond seething, and her confrontation at present was playing out a lot differently than the one she'd envisioned in her head not ten minutes ago. So much for remaining calm and collective while she grilled him. Instead, her emotions had kicked into overdrive of their own accord, and all pretense was lost regarding Tara's startling revelation shortly after their arrival at the warehouse. "Poor Spike with his stupid secrets and his stupid coat, and his stupid- no, you know what? You're just stupid."

He opened his mouth, ready to counteract her childish remark with some witty repartee that would no doubt take her mind off of the subject entirely, thus hurling her straight into their usual banterfest. But something in the unmistakably frigid way she was glaring at him told him it likely wouldn't even be worth the effort, as he had a funny feeling she would have absolutely no trouble bypassing it to get her answers. Answers he was sure were going to earn him anything but positive reception. So he quite blatantly chose to say nothing, his blues trying desperately to focus themselves elsewhere.

"You seriously thought I wasn't gonna bat an eyelash when I finally figured out you had a heartbeat? When we were...I thought it was just me, you know? That I'd gotten a little rusty on this plane. That being the slayer was irrelevant. Rusty Buffy with her rusty slaying skills all turned upside down. But then I remembered how you didn't even try to go into vamp face when Wesley turned that gun on you. The Spike I know wouldn't have hesitated if he knew his life or mine might be in danger. He wouldn't just stay there and take it like a coward. He would've fought back. But you didn't. You just stood there and let him have the upper hand."

"It's not-"

"_Why_? I need to know why. Why couldn't you just come out and say it?"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" he countered. "Whether or not I'm human is of no consequence, Buffy. It doesn't change anything. It may make it easier to get around in the daytime, but the way I see it, you're still you and I'm still me. It's not even permanent. Soon as we get back, I'll be a vampire again, and none of this will have been worth a bleeding damn. Not like we'll have to worry about my kind here, either. Tara said they haven't seen one in years, and our very own Wolfram and Hart seem to be at fault for that. Maybe I'll send 'em a Christmas card, 'cuz these poor sods have had enough to worry about lately, haven't they? They've actually got a monster they can check off the list."

"You might not think it changes anything," she repeated, deliberately ignoring his affirmation about the law firm and jumping right into the thick of it. "But that's where you're wrong, because to me, it changes _everything_, Spike. For the first time in my life, nothing is standing between what I thought I lost and how impossible it was to think I'd find it again. By some miracle I did, and I don't want to let it go this time. I can't."

He knew straight away that he'd be a complete git if he tried to worm his way out of this one, but part of him was also very much aware that in their profession the business aspect of it always came first while the rest was often left on the back burner to simmer and stew for a bit. Whatever he was or wasn't feeling right now would have to wait until after he saw Fred and she determined who exactly he'd turned into after coming through that portal. If he was just going to be some helpless guy that Buffy would have to put her life on the line to protect and watch over in countless instances where she handled the bulk of the fighting and he merely watched from the sidelines, Spike simply wouldn't be at all pleased with depending on her in such a way that made him utterly defenseless in the process.

More importantly, she didn't deserve it. And since he was convinced The Powers That Be didn't spend their waking hours making male slayers just for the buggering heck of it, he was still at a loss in terms of how he'd managed to heal like one. He was awfully eager to give the training room a try or two for that very reason, as it would go a long way in explaining if any of his superhuman strength had stayed with him by some chance. Secretly, he hoped it had. It was a dream of his to finally take Buffy on when the two of them had nothing but mortality dangling between them.

But that's all it had ever been. A dream.

He still planned on going a round with her regardless of what the results might entail. It would certainly be an added bonus if it meant he was able to challenge her and keep her on her toes.

Waving a hand near his face, Buffy eyed him rather incredulously, her demeanor failing to conceal her impatience. "Spike? Aren't you gonna say something?"

"Bloody hell, woman."

"Okay, _not_ really the response I'd hoped for. Maybe you could try speaking into my good ear."

"Do you have the slightest idea what you do to me?" he put in, effectively silencing her, as he began to back her into the nearest wall, the gesture deemed a far cry from innocent. If she didn't know by now what his intentions were, she was either playing hard to get or she was just plain daft. He'd never been one to drag things out, and he concluded with some certainty that he'd just about reached that breaking point again.

He needed to taste her. Feel her. "Any at all?"

Misinterpreting his meaning completely, she went and dodged him at the last minute, her green eyes clouding. "I get it. I do. Just tell me I'm cramping your style and get it over with, okay? We'll put this little spat behind us. I had an opportunity and I totally blew it. For what it's worth, you really didn't have to-"

Before she could finish, he'd dragged her roughly into his embrace, a lazy smirk spreading over his elegant face before he crushed his lips to hers, gently prying her mouth open and allowing his tongue to to mingle with hers. Professing what he considered to be an immense sigh of relief, Spike felt her responding almost immediately and thanked every single lucky star on the sodding planet that she didn't to want to beat him senseless and into next Sunday for it. His calloused hands curled possessively around her tiny waist, clinging for dear life to the flimsy material of the loose gray sweatshirt she wore, impetuously slamming her into a door on the opposite end of the long hallway. He heard her audibly gasp when she felt the hardness of his erection poking her belly, her lips still fused to his and her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Reluctantly breaking free of her to consume greedy gulps of air, Spike came to the delightful realization that he was fighting to catch his breath just as much as she was. It was a fairly new experience for him, and one that hadn't directly applied in well over a hundred years. Buffy's lips were swollen and she seemed to have temporarily lost her balance amid the scuffle, her fingers clutching his shoulders a bit too tightly as she did her utmost best to steady and support herself before her legs gave out from under her.

"Just for the record, I'm bleeding tired of talking. Should've done that as soon as I saw you the other night. Might have worked, too, especially if you hadn't gotten it in your pretty little noggin to punch my lights out."

"So you instead chose to amend your plan and ravage me in a rundown warehouse," she stated, chuckling softly as her green eyes met his blue ones.

"Don't think they'll be reprimandin' me for it, if that's what you're wondering. Although, I'm awfully curious as to what your ex honey might think catchin' you in such a nasty predicament. Let me just remind you that you were a willing participant, and from here on out won't have you claiming otherwise."

"Is this the part where we reach into the deepest, darkest parts of our innermost thoughts and confess our undying devotion to one another while I ask if I can take you home to meet my parents?"

He delicately touched his forehead to hers. "If only that were possible, pet. Your mum was a wonderful lady. Always did enjoy that hot chocolate of hers, too."

She reached up and captured his lips with hers, groaning as his hands became bolder and began to wander beneath the confines of her sweater, grazing her bare skin with his fingertips. She playfully swatted them away, much to his dismay. "We can't keep this up out here, you know. Someone could see us."

"And do what?" he demanded. "Scold us for not showin' up for their precious pep rally? Screw it. Just spent the better half of this trip arguin' with you, and I'm not about to make that mistake again. 'Sides, I wouldn't say no to a private party, and if we didn't have those resident beasties on our tail, I'd be more than willing to make it worth your while."

"Have you met Noelle yet?"

"The nibblet whose family bought it when-"

"Yeah," she filled in. "It's why I came up here to find you. Well, not that..._this_ wasn't nice, too, but I think there's something Wesley's not telling us."

Spike's jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes a fair bit theatrically, not the least bit fazed by her assumption. "Yeah, you don't say. I'd wager he's got a lot stored up in that cranium of his. Guards it like its Fort bloody Knox."

"When I was downstairs with Jonathan-" Upon seeing the shock that manifested over his features, she could only nod. "_Yes_, that Jonathan. Well, not really _our_ Jonathan, because he's- well, you get the picture. It wasn't the most stimulating of conversations, I'll grant you, but I know Noelle heard every word of it. She just kept staring at me, and I swear her eyes never left my face. It was beginning to wig me out a little, to be honest. When I asked Jonathan about it, he mentioned something about a photo album she's been practically holding in a death grip since they brought her here. He said he doesn't know what's in it, because she's never let anybody see."

"Probably misses dear old mum and dad. Nothing out of the ordinary about that."

"It's what I thought at first, too, only there seems to be more to it than that."

"You need to relax," Spike amended, placing a light kiss over the tip of her nose as he gave her arms a friendly squeeze, noting with some satisfaction that she was responding rather warmly to him. "You're readin' too much into this. She's just a girl. What could she-"

"Yeah, and that's what somebody told _me_ once," Buffy told him. "That I was 'just a girl.' Right after I kicked some major demon ass. In all my times just...being a girl, I've managed to piss countless people of. Who knows how many vamps have it in for me before the day is out."

"Well, it's funny you should say that, 'cuz I was gonna let you kick mine later when we have a go of it in that training room Percy's apparently so fond of. If Fred can't give me a proper diagnosis, I'm still gonna need to work on my strength. Figure you could help with that."

"Spike."

"You're really worried about her, aren't you?" he whispered.

"I am. Remember when I had that dream?"

"Not likely to forget it. But what does your dream have to do with a child you've never met? Only one you saw in it was me."

"See, that's just it. She reminded me of you- as a child, I mean. I don't...you know it's not the easiest thing in the world to explain, and I'm almost at that point where I'm starting to question my own sanity over it. But I feel something. I do. Some sort of...spiritual connection. I figured if we could just find out more about her history, maybe we-"

"Don't know how to break this to you, Slayer, but this isn't our world. Whatever or whoever she's related to is none of our business. Might be able to offer her some comfort while we're here, but we sure as sodding heck can't pretend to know her family. We have no way of knowing what happened once The Plague tore it apart. We've both experienced great losses in our lives, and we might be able to sympathize there, but that's it. I think it's probably a long shot with anything else."

"Wesley said I couldn't get her to talk. What if I can? I'm not about to invade her privacy and sneak a peek at her little picture book, but if we could get her to finally open up, we'd be doing the others some good and earning our keep."

"Sure beats strumming out battle plans with The Brady Bunch down there. All right, I'm in. Just don't ask me to tell her any bedtime stories, 'cuz what I know of 'em would frighten the poor chit silly, and you'd be placing blame for weeks."

"Oh, you don't have to tell me twice. I still have a very good memory of the humdinger of a one you told my sister in your crypt. It's no wonder she didn't have nightmares from it."

"She didn't, 'cuz I embellished. For your sake, I might add. Wasn't about to tell her I ate the girl in the coal bin now, was I?"

"I was grateful, you know."

"Grateful?"

"That you took it upon yourself to look after her. When I was gone. I know it didn't come off that way at the time-"

"Bloody right it didn't."

"I just...I really think there's something here."

"With us?"

She cursed herself for the obvious implications she'd somehow overlooked, quickly regretting it the second the words had stumbled out of her mouth. "I...I meant with Noelle. But yeah, that too. So if you don't mind, I'd like to tag along with you when you see Fred. Just to see if she knows anything more about it."

He cocked his head to the side, studying her with equal parts admiration and respect. "Lookin' to play Nancy Drew, are you?"

"Hello, an honorary member of the Scoobies here. They're _way_ cooler than Nancy Drew."

"You do realize we're gonna have to make sense of this sooner or later, don't you?"

"I thought you were through talking."

"Bollocks."


	9. Chapter 8: Help

A/N: Spuffygirl, BaDWolF89, and TheBlueDragonWolf- thank you! Hopefully some things will start to make a bit more sense soon. ;)

Chapter Eight: Help

_"Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other."_  
- Euripides

"Have you any intention of moving in the next five minutes?" The blue-haired goddess demanded, as she continued to pace the length of the small room, showing no sign of becoming the slightest bit weary from her actions. "I'm afraid your routine is vastly becoming trite and dull. I wish to move on to the next stage of our plan."

"Well, that might work if we actually _had_ a plan," Angel informed her, already becoming irritated with the Old One's impatience. He plucked yet another book from the stack that sat directly in front of him, his brows creased while he tried desperately to focus on the task at hand. "Right now we're as good as dead in the water. Unless, of course, you have some idea of who's playing us, in which case I'd be awfully interested if you'd dazzle me with your brilliance and stop trying to make me dizzy."

"You're unable to confirm whether they're alive or dead," Illyria went on, clearly oblivious to his ramblings. "You forget that those lost to us may not always want to be found."

"And you're forgetting that they didn't exactly go willingly," he pointed out.

"You have no leads," she persisted. "Every contact you speak of appears to be conveniently out of town. You've received no visions from the higher powers. There is nothing else for us to do now but wait."

"They're not out of town."

She came to a halt suddenly, her eyes widening out of disbelief as she cocked her head to the side. "Then I'm not sure I understand."

"They're scared of what's coming, so they're protecting themselves. It's not the first time this has happened. When we find out what-"

"You have delusions of grandeur, vampire. It makes me physically ill."

"Oh, really? Because if you're not going to help, you still have the option of leaving."

"Ah, but why do that when the party's just getting started?" The garbled voice was only vaguely familiar to him, but the moment the figure it belonged to slowly materialized himself into view, Angel's handsome face wasted no time lapsing itself into a tight frown at the unwelcome intrusion. The demon in question simply ignored the obvious look of displeasure, only moving to make sure he kept a fairly respectable amount of distance between them in bestowing his opponent with a rare form of courtesy.

"Your presence taints this sanctuary," Illyria murmured. "You reek of vengeance and death."

"Yes, that's very true," D'Hoffryn acknowledged loosely, shrugging. "But you are not my concern at the moment. Now, Angelus, on the other hand- well, it turns out the two of us have a lot to talk about. As a kindness I suspect you'll come to appreciate, I suppose it's only right that I start from the beginning. You might want to get comfortable again and pull up a seat, because we could be here for awhile. As it turns out, I'm not exactly in the business of repeating myself. The way I see it, I'm here doing you a favor, and it'll spare you some agony in the long run, believe me."

The former C.E.O. of Wolfram and Hart rose to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yeah, see, I'm actually just going by Angel now, but something tells me you and yours already knew that. So let me make this as clear as I possibly can. What the hell do you want, and how did you find me?"

"Your slayer didn't mention me?" the demon inquired, evidently unfazed by the hostility directed towards him. "I'm utterly shocked. I thought for sure I had her undivided attention with the lovely welcoming gift I sent. Maybe I should have had it dismembered and wrapped, although I don't think it would've made quite the same impression."

"She may have suspected something, but it was never confirmed." Judging by the careless demeanor the creature in front of him was projecting, Angel already had it on good authority that the current subject of his seething hatred hardly ever popped in for a cameo appearance because he wanted to catch up on old times. There was always a reason, and if that reason involved Buffy and Spike, he needed to keep his temper in check. The same temper that had been boiling to the surface when Illyria had gotten under his skin prior to the unexpected arrival of Anya's former boss. "You didn't stop there, did you?"

"No, and how could I?" D'Hoffryn helped himself to the sofa that resided near the desk, not waiting for an invitation as he went and decidedly made himself at home within his surroundings. "D'Korr was one of my best, you know. Not as near and dear to me as my girls, mind you, but the loss we felt certainly didn't go unnoticed. Fortunately for me, I was able to rid myself of two distractions for the price of one. Wonderful, really."

"So the slayer made short work of your lackey. Big deal. It's what she does, and if I'd been there just a little sooner, I would've helped her. Either way, he never stood a chance."

"True, but I haven't even gotten to the good part yet."

"Good part?"

"Scales must always be balanced, Angelus. Scores need to be settled. You know this as well as anyone." The demon merely smiled. "I owed your Senior Partners and they came to collect. Let's just say it's been paid in full with a bit of collateral thrown in for good measure."

"Yeah, and what debt could you possibly have when you employ women whose job it is to make others suffer? Really not seeing where you're going with this, but let me just say I appreciate the visit. Feel free to stop by again sometime when you aren't full of crap. I've actually got more important things I need to see to, like saving a woman I care about from a portal that just swallowed her whole. Excuse me if I'm not exactly in the mood to have a conversation about a law firm I'm no longer part of."

"Then I'm afraid you'd be wasting what breath you don't have," the demon retorted.

"How about you just tell what you came here to tell me so I can get on with my day?"

"I believe I just did."

"Resorting to quips isn't exactly-"

"He's directly responsible for your slayer's demise," Illyria confirmed. "One of his girls."

"That's not how it works," Angel countered, his gaze still trained solely on D'Hoffryn. "His _girls_ would've had to get someone to make a wish."

"Oh, but she did, and her charge was all too willing. That said, you don't usually receive a heads up about these things when they don't even happen in your own dimension." The demon winked as he clasped his hands together, resting them firmly in his lap. "Which means anything you try to do today or tomorrow or the next day is basically rendered moot. What's done is done, Angelus. She's no longer a threat to the Senior Partners, and they have me to thank for it. A debt well paid indeed. Maybe not from your perspective, but it's all for the best. Everybody goes home happy, and speaking of home-"

"Who made the wish?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose that information. You know the rules. Confidentiality clause and whatever else appears in the fine print. I can, however, tell you the poor thing was absolutely wrought with grief. Hasn't spoken a word since. But that'll change in time. Shame I lost my Halfrek, as she was such a wonder in that department. You have the late Anyanka to thank for that unfortunate tragedy. A deal is a deal, after all. The past is the past." He brought himself to his feet again, lightly dusting off the long, dark tunic he wore as if it were an afterthought. "We all cope with loss in different ways, don't we?"

Angel moved closer to him, careful not to overstep his bounds, and yet completely aware of the fact that D'Hoffryn would be long gone before he ever had the chance to lay a single finger on him. It was hard enough reigning in the demon that still existed inside of him, and the overwhelming desire to enact his own method of violence was so close he could practically smell it. Instead, he only narrowed his eyes and grinned, allowing his foe just the faintest glimmer of his former soulless likeness and what that likeness was capable of if pushed to the limit when those he valued dearly were in danger. "What makes you think the Senior Partners are going to let this go at a wish? They're still going to find you and hunt you down, Hoff. Your bargaining tools don't mean a damn thing to them. A wish can be undone, but your so called debt's another matter. Once I find out how to reverse what you've gotten Buffy into, you better hope you're already running."

"I do hope you're not threatening me, vampire, as it does no wonders for your complexion."

"We'll see who has the last laugh when they bury you six feet under. Well, unless I get to you first. Then you just better get on your knees and pray I don't inflict torture of a very painful variety upon you and the rest of your little harem."

"Have you ever considered the fact that she might be happy? She's not alone, Angelus."

The vampire shrugged. "You mean Spike."

"Perhaps you've already lost her in more ways than one," D'Hoffryn stated quietly. "Think about it." And with that, he shimmered himself out of view, the silence in the room becoming almost deafening.

Angel walked back to his desk, casually propping his lean frame up against it while numbly staring at nothing in particular, his brown eyes seemingly vacant. The need to use his fists on something hard wasn't nearly as prevalent an urge as it had been seconds earlier, and for once he was thoroughly grateful for it. He just wasn't clear on what that meant for him or his relationship with a certain blonde slayer who was at present trapped in an alternate universe with someone who'd been nothing but a thorn in his side for the majority of his undead life.

He hadn't even stopped to contemplate things after that trip to Rome. Not really. And up until he'd decided to wager war against Wolfram and Hart from the inside out, things had actually been going great with whatever it was that he'd had with Nina. He actually felt something good that he couldn't explain when he was with her. Not a moment-of-perfect-happiness good, as they'd already slept together without having to face any disastrous consequences- but good enough that he had someone who knew what it was like to have to accept a part of themselves that wasn't exactly human. With Buffy, the main obstacle standing in his way had always been a matter of him being able to have a future with her. The same could obviously be said for Nina, but if he was being completely honest about that, the odds hadn't ever been in his favor there, either, and were relentlessly stacked against him. He thought of Cordelia and her own sacrifices, and almost yearned for her to somehow appear to him and impart some of the much needed wordly wisdom she was always known for dispensing.

He dimly recalled what he'd said to Buffy when she'd arrived in Los Angeles, and rather than play catch up on the specifics of her cookie dough metaphor, he'd dove headfirst into business. To be fair, she _was_ in the business of slaying whatever happened to go bump in the night, and he was pretty much in the business of saving the world on numerous occasions and trying to avoid a stake to the heart in the process- decapitation included. Then there was that overly preachy lecture he'd given her at the bar, and taking it all into account in rapid replay, he'd been quite upfront about that, too. Maybe what she'd always needed was something he couldn't..._wouldn't_ ever be able to give her.

The yearning to protect her and shield her from harm were never given a second thought, as they simply always just _were_. The instinct had been there since he first saw her sitting by herself on those school steps before her life was about to change forever. It wasn't as if he could even give her children or walk into a great big ball of sunshine with her- not to mention asking for her hand in marriage. He was unable to see himself waiting for her as she walked down that aisle in a long flowing white dress with a thin veil covering her pretty face, her lips curled into a smile of contentment. In dreams, yes. In that shoddy piece of what was commonly referred to as reality- no. At least not before he went up in a cloud of smoke and his ashes descended upon each and every guest who'd been gracious enough to attend the ceremony. Plus, if he ever came back via amulet like Spike, Buffy would never let him hear the end of it. It was just her way.

Angel resigned himself to the possibility that none of it was in the cards for him, and most of the time, that was fine. He'd signed away his right to the Shanshu and had accepted who and what he was before kicking some serious evil ass. Whatever came after that, still remained to be seen.

The truth of it was, he and Buffy had probably already grown too far apart to mend any bridges that would've otherwise given him more hope.

But it didn't mean he wanted her with Spike. Not if he could help it.

"It was an act of abandonment."

Illyria's voice yanked him out of his aberrant mode of contemplation, and he turned to her, shaking his head. "What?"

"An act of abandonment," she reiterated, warily studying him.

"Yeah, I know. It's called disappearing. He seems to do it a lot. Or so I've heard."

"Not him, the child."

"Child? Buffy's not a child, Illyria, she's-"

"I'm referring to the child who made the wish," she interceded knowingly. "For a demon of reputable origin, he failed to choose his words more carefully. I suspect this was deliberate in spite of his need to gloat."

He stole a glance back at his books, indicating the pile with a flick of his thumb. "Then I doubt we'll find anything concrete in those. Guess it's back to the drawing board again."

"This young girl has been neglected. It's the only reason her cry would be strong enough. We need to find access to this other dimension."

"Won't that be a picnic. Look, it's not that I don't get what you're trying to do. It's just that it's one of those situations where it's a lot easier said than done. You might've been able to do it if you still had the use of the full extent of your powers, but aside from being able to determine what kind of demon pulled her in, there's not much to go on."

"Yes, but you know a witch."

"A witch Giles said wanted nothing to do with me when I took over Wolfram and Hart. It might be better to just call Dawn and Andrew. Andrew has other slayers at his disposal. If we end up finding this dimension we'll still have no idea what we're walking into."

"So instead you'll continue to worry about her and what she's doing with him," Illyria commented, craning her neck slightly as she proceeded to observe him some more.

Angel refused to meet her stare, occupying himself with fishing through the pocket of his slacks for the small cell phone that resided there. "Whatever I feel or don't feel is not important right now. We need to get to work."

"Oh, I don't really consider it work," Winifred Burkle professed shyly, as she attempted to once again run the elongated instrument over a body that was presently wrestling with the prospect of staying completely and unreservedly still. She promptly readjusted the glasses that sat comfortably atop the bridge of her nose and pursed her lips in a show of frustration, clearly becoming somewhat impatient as the contraption she held refused to yield her any results. "It's more of a privilege, really. But don't tell Wesley. He usually pays me pretty well, and I don't think I'm supposed to be saying things like that."

"No worries, love. Secret's safe with me." Spike had always found the slight southern twang her voice possessed to be rather endearing, and the Fred in this world was no different from the one that had been in his own, right down to her clothes and the way she wore her long, wavy brown hair. Tonight that hair was tied back with a simple rubberband, and she had a plain white lab coat covering her bright floral sundress. "Won't leave this room."

"That's strangely reassuring," she responded with a quick grin. "I'm just not sure I'm going to have the answers you're looking for."

"Maybe it's 'cuz we don't know what it is we need to find yet," he suggested.

"It's just that The Plague has more or less been taking up most of my time lately, and he's constantly on me about that antidote." She placed the gadget she still held into a large clear plastic bag and re-sealed it, turning back to him, her countenance somewhat troubled. "I get where he's coming from, I do, but if over half the population was born demonic, there's no way to return them to a non-existent state. The older ones might still have a chance, but I'm not exactly a miracle worker here. Wesley's group A, but he usually just goes out by himself to secure the perimeter. Group B is out on patrol and should be back by first light tomorrow."

"What can you tell us about Noelle?" Buffy spoke up, briefly glimpsing Spike's annoyed expression as a result of how persistent she'd become with the topic, gently rolling his eyes out of habit. "What's her story?"

"I'm surprised you haven't already heard it from Wesley. I mean I assumed he-"

"We did...actually. But, well, I guess I'd like to hear it from you. He could have left out something important," the slayer offered, taking a seat at the table in the cramped room. She surmised it had once been used as a kitchen or breakroom of sorts. The sink to the far left still seemed to be in working order, as well as a small beige fridge perched right beside it.

"Not that there's really a whole lot to say. Her parents were killed by The Plague, and it's been awfully hard to track down another living relative that'll be able to take her in after we find a way to contain the outbreak. There isn't anyone in the general vicinity. At least, not as far as we know. She's sure been hanging onto that photo album for dear life, though. Must be some pretty wonderful memories in there for her to cling to. She's much too young to have to go through something so terrible."

"None of you knew the family when her parents-"

"No, but it's not like we're all from this area originally. We're kind of a mixed bag," she added, grinning. "Some have lived here longer than others."

"So what'll happen to her when this is over?"

"Too soon to tell. Wesley told me it might be best to just place her in a foster home in one of the neighboring cities if it comes down to it. As soon as it's safe to move out of here, he's planning to do it. I don't think the silly man realizes that the two of us could care for her ourselves. It's not like she's proven to be a real handful or anything, and I get the impression she wouldn't be if and when she decides to talk. But we're just giving her some time now. She's still reeling from the immense shock."

"Any orders I should follow in the meantime, doc?" Spike glared once more in Buffy's direction as he awaited an answer to his question from Fred, sincerely hoping the slayer would finally see to it to give her all too obvious inquisitiveness a rest for the time being.

"Well, Tara suggested testing out your moves in our training room, and that really wouldn't be such a bad idea at the moment. But I'm inclined to believe her theory is sound. I'm not positive as to what degree, but it's plausible the lack of vampires in this area have contributed significantly to your ability to take on mortal traits, yet still retain superhuman strength. I'm also going to see what I can do about getting you back home. If the veil between worlds is as I suspect it is, it might just be easier than I thought. Although, I really wouldn't say no if you guys decided to lend us an extra hand or two. We're kind of short-staffed right now."

"Right then," he muttered. "Off we go. Should give us a bit of time to think about that offer, too, eh?"

"It was a pleasure to meet y'all," she disclosed happily. "I know you must think I'm so dull I probably pour things into beakers in my sleep, but I can assure you that I'm fully capable of leading a fun and eventful life. Just ask my parents."

"That you are. In fact, I hear there's a bloke around here who feels the exact same way. Not that he'd tell you to your face, of course, but I'd suggest you stop beating around the bleeding bush and just tell him how you feel. Makes things a whole lot simpler- or not, as the case may sometimes be. Have to put yourself out there, you know? Always used to tell myself that if I had a girl like you, I'd never let her go. Wouldn't be a need to."

Unbeknownst to him, his advice had very nearly melted Buffy's heart. While it was true her sudden desire to find answers about a little girl she barely knew had started gnawing away at her for some as yet undisclosed reason, she also had to find out where she stood with Spike, and if that meant engaging him in training where he might become both shirtless and sweaty, she supposed she was all for it. It wasn't like anyone had to twist her arm or ask her twice, and she wasn't about to begrudge how much relief had coursed through her when she thought about the most recent development in whatever it was they shared between them now. Buffy, defender of all nasty things that preyed at night, was more than ready to put herself out there.

But the hard part was far from over. First she had to convince Spike that her words to him that last day in Sunnydale had been the truth. She wouldn't put it past him to assume she only wanted a temporary arrangement until they'd found a means to contact Angel and determine a way back once The Plague was dealt with and eliminated. That it would fall right back into same old, same old again in terms of the usual mundane routine. Except...she didn't want it to. Not now, not ever. She was sick of doing the same dance and getting absolutely nowhere. It was time to be _somewhere_.

Buffy could see herself sharing a life with him. Whether that life was in Rome, Los Angeles, or some country or city she hadn't even conceived of at the moment, she was practically craving it. They'd likely yell at each other until they were blue in the face some days, and she could easily see some of their other disagreements lasting a few weeks. But she would take him any way she could get him. Soulful vampire or entirely human- it was of no consequence, really. It was of no consequence because it was _Spike_. She'd literally screamed inside when she'd discovered this plane had awarded him a live beating heart, and even if it were to go away tomorrow and he sported fangs and a protruding forehead, she'd still want the whole bumpy package.

"What are you thinkin' about, pet?" She wasn't even aware that he'd tenderly taken his hand in hers, quietly placing the softest of butterfly kisses upon her wrist and drawing her closer to him.

"I was gone there for a little while, wasn't I?"

"You were," he admitted. "All smiles and the like. I happen to feature in any of these ridiculously girly daydreams of yours?"

Buffy could feel her current smile growing wider, just barely able to suppress her giddiness as her own heart beat faster. "Sometimes."

"That right?"

"It's very right." She looked at their joined hands once more before advancing with him a bit further to the door of the training area, edging it open just enough to reveal various pieces of equipment housed inside. Apparently, they'd be the only ones occupying it at this hour. Most of what was there was extremely dated, but it was much more efficient than anything she'd had at her disposal back in her apartment in Rome, and it automatically won her over with a gold seal of approval in the slayer division. She'd worked with far less back at the Magic Box, and that comfy little creation was what she's always considered to be top of the line. The goodies in here were simply an added bonus, and she was thoroughly going to enjoy using them to her advantage.

Spike immediately sensed her growing enthusiasm as he parted from her, yanking the black v-neck sweater he wore up and over his head to reveal the white t-shirt underneath, errantly tossing both to the side. "Go easy on me, love."

"Do you really mean that?" she queried curiously, her green eyes blazing with what he suspected was another challenge. She never seemed to stop doing that, and he didn't know if he wanted her to. She was beautiful. Bloody gorgeous. And she was his.

"Mean what?"

"You. Loving me." She'd done the same as him with the gray sweatshirt she'd been wearing, displaying a braless tank top underneath, straightening it out so it complied more snuggly with her slim waistline.

"Buffy, I never stopped. You know this. You-" Before he could finish, he was on his back and she was hovering over him, moving in to straddle him with a leg propped on either side of his.

"Oops. Looks like you've lost your touch," she commented teasingly, nodding her head in all seriousness as she went and casually splayed her fingers across his bare, well-muscled chest.

"Think you're so bloody clever, don't you?" he alleged. "Throw me off with a statement like that, and swoop in for the kill. Always did like your style, Slayer."

"Oh, but if you weren't so busy ogling me, you might have anticipated it. Used to be pretty good at that, if I recall."

"I was," Spike agreed. "Still am, as a matter of fact." Before she could reply, he'd broken free of her hold, and was back on his feet, aiming a solid roundhouse kick at her solar plexus. She dodged it with seconds to spare, and let her fist fly firmly towards his face, just grazing the tip of one of his razor sharp cheekbones. The adrenaline was beginning to course through her veins the same way it had when she'd engaged in the fight in the alleyway the night she'd come to L.A., making short work of D'Hoffryn's assassin before finding herself caught up in a demon ambush and coming face to face with Spike again. Yes, she really _had_ missed this. So much.

"Nice reflexes."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a boastful smirk. "Guess I've still got it."

"Well, you've got something, at any rate."

"Balls." He was very nearly insulted, despite sensing that her tone wasn't entirely in earnest. "Maybe it's time I elaborate a bit about what that something really is."

"Well, you _have_ been holding back a little," Buffy corroborated, albeit sportively. "C'mon, show me what you've got, tough g-"

The position she briskly found herself in was the same one he'd been in minutes prior, and she fought hard to catch her breath upon impact, the wind having been knocked straight out of her with little to no effort at all. Yeah, he definitely wasn't going to be falling behind anytime soon with remembering just how to defend himself if and when they ran into a snag. He'd be able to overcome that roadblock blindfolded.

"I could get used to this," she whispered, her chest still heaving, and her cheeks already flushed.

Spike felt her wriggle a bit beneath him and he tensed, realizing he'd been just a fraction too late when he caught her eyes widening at the unmistakable way the lower half of his body had started responding rather intimately to her again, miserably failing to keep himself in check. He was thankful for whatever scraps of clothing they _did_ have between them, because he was steadily finding it harder and harder to control the decisions his cock was making without him. A rather vivid flash of him caging her in against the wall after they'd visited that fortune teller crammed its way into his mind, and he struggled to think about something else. _Anything_ else. A naked, wet, and wanting Buffy was not that anything else.

He hesitantly released the hands he hadn't even realized he'd pushed up over her head, and used his own to draw down the tank top that was currently revealing the smallest bit of skin on her stomach, nervously clearing his throat as he did so. "Didn't mean to...sorry."

She saw him pick himself up and head towards the sweater he'd left on the floor, throwing it haphazardly over his lean frame before bending to retrieve the one she'd discarded a mere few feet away, pushing it roughly into her grasp.

She dutifully placed it on, and carefully stood, her line of vision tracking the patterns the hardwood below her made. "I'm not."

He felt like he was in a daze. "Beg your pardon?"

"I liked it."

Spike raised an eyebrow, still not quite believing what he was hearing. "Liked...what, exactly?"

"This."

"Buffy-"

"I like what you do to me," she irrevocably confessed, gracing him with the most pleasant of smiles. A smile that reached her eyes.

"See, now you can't just tell me things like that and expect me to remain a gentleman."

"Spike."

"No, you know what this is? It's progress, Slayer. You showed me the barest crumb of it back in Los Angeles, and I held onto that crumb for dear life. Didn't in my wildest imagination believe I'd get much more than that. Just a sliver, you know? Always a sliver for Spike. Figured you'd be all about wanting to please your sweetie pie, and like it or not, he'd probably jump right in on that, too. He was occupied with dog girl for awhile there, and I'd make jokes from time to time, but it always came back to you. I don't think he even understood that he's repeatedly put his calling before his women, and you can bet Nina picked up on that as soon as he gave her that sodding plane ticket. Right smart bird, she was. He wanted her safe, but didn't seem to love her enough to want to keep her."

"Okay, seeing as I don't really feel like discussing the bomb you just dropped about Angel having a werewolf girlfriend you didn't want to talk about before, we'll just have to tag that for later. Either way, putting me first wouldn't have been a thing with you," she acknowledged faintly. "You would've let me stay, had I been in her shoes. Is that what you're-"

"Wouldn't have doubted it, 'cuz who else would you want beside you when the bloody world comes crashing down around you? Don't know how many times I'll have to say it, but it was always about you, Buffy. Each and every time. Always. What I did, who I am, what you've made me..."

A sharp knock rapped at the closed door, abruptly cutting him off, and forcing the two of them to turn their attention towards it as Jonathan peeked his head in, his normally cheerful face muddled in distress. "She's gone."

"Gone?" Spike echoed.

"She just took off. We've looked everywhere, but she's...she's not inside. I think she- I think she's out _there_. With them. If they find her, she's as good as dead."

"Bloody hell. _Who_? Who's out there, Jonathan?"

"Noelle. The best we can figure is that something must have spooked her. She left her photo album by the window and she just disappeared. We've searched all the rooms. There's been no sign of her."

"I'm on it," Spike assured him, already slipping past him and making it to the chair he'd slung his duster across when they'd been granted access to the warehouse, slinging it effortlessly around his shoulders as his arms slipped into the sleeves. "Thought these blooming doors were supposed to be shut up tight."

"Don't you think you're being a little hasty?" Buffy called after him. "You can't take on these guys all by yourself. Even with- look you heard what Wesley said. _Damn it_. Spike!"

She raced after him, stumbling a bit as she reached the back exit he'd used only seconds ago, her weight coming to an absolute standstill when she happened to steal a glimpse at the thin photo album flipped open and lying on the ground to her left.

She didn't move. She couldn't move.

The well-worn page Noelle had favored, did nothing to detract from the four pictures arranged with precision upon it, the identities as clear as day. "Oh my God."


	10. Chapter 9: Shattered

A/N: Thanks so much to those of you still enjoying this story. :)

Chapter Nine: Shattered

_"Faith is the strength by which a shattered world shall emerge into the light."_  
- Helen Keller

He was a right git to have left without taking a single sodding weapon with him.

But it wasn't long after he'd ventured out into the darkness that Spike had gotten what he presumed was a damn lucky break in the way of narrowing his search considerably. Old habits had the tendency to die hard, but it hadn't stopped him from pausing for just a moment to sniff the air for the young girl's scent, promptly concluding that his enhanced sense of smell was indeed still very much intact. He may have acquired a beating heart, and was free to roam in the pleasure of Mr. Sunshine after daylight had dutifully overshadowed the waning night, but the majority of his former attributes were in good, working order, and he was bloody well thankful for it.

Especially at a time like this.

He was awfully curious as to what may have pushed the bit to do what she did. Percy and Fred wouldn't have gone without educating her on the nasties that lurked beyond the doors of the warehouse. It wasn't their style, and mute or not, he was positive the little one could tell the difference between right and wrong without needing a bleeding textbook at her disposal. After once again factoring in the horrible way in which her parents had met their markedly tragic end, he was even more perplexed as to why she had a sudden need to become The Plague's new plaything before they ultimately became bored with her and decided to bash her head in and crush her tiny skull. He couldn't quite explain it, but something Buffy had said to him earlier was doing an awfully persistent job of repeatedly strumming away up in his noggin, and was only now pushing itself to the forefront.

He did feel a slight pull whenever his eyes would come into contact with the girl's, and it was something he assumed was merely a case of her somehow being able to see past his recent humanity and into the monster he'd been before she was able to glimpse the man. Children had a funny way of being able to see what others could not, and he figured it finally confirmed his hesitance in officially introducing himself to her for that very reason. He'd felt a lot safer just maintaining his distance and had tried to shrug off the slayer's constant nagging about it.

Vampires were scarce as all get-out in this dimension, but it didn't mean a small child couldn't glean the details surrounding his previous existence and hold it against him when and if she saw fit. He wasn't going to find her at fault there. After Spike had gotten his soul, he'd pretty much found himself in the same boat, and God knew how he'd managed to cope when the whole guilt trip had invited itself in and set up shop in his every waking thought and memory. It was Buffy who had gotten him through the lot of it, and he smiled just thinking about it. Of course, he surmised he'd have a very different, very _perturbed_ Buffy waiting for him back at the warehouse when and if he ever got back there- hopefully in one piece.

Careful not to let his boots make too much of a ruckus upon the damp pavement, he continued to track Noelle's scent down the deserted street and over to what appeared to be a rundown apartment complex with boards nailed shut across the windows and a single entryway that likely led into a foyer of some sort. It was sealed off from harm in the same manner the warehouse he'd just come from had been. Sighing, he gently shrugged out of the duster he'd donned only a short while ago, and tossed it into a heap in the tall weeds before making his way closer to the dilapidated building. It was becoming exceedingly obvious that it had been uninhabited for a very long time, and if he had to guess, he'd wager the bold little nibblet had went and crawled through a lower level opening to gain access to whatever was inside. Spike didn't have the foggiest as to why the place was so special to her, but there was clearly some kind of sentimental value attached to it for her to have chosen it when lots of others were easier to get into and in far worse shape than this one.

He busied himself with prying off several of the boards by hand before finally gaining admittance. The moonlight cast its glow into a quaint little lobby with a tall wooden desk and overturned chairs, a conglomeration of cobwebs hanging low from the ceiling of the horribly cluttered first floor. There was a thick layer of dust coating the furniture, and a set of green lamps were missing the bulbs. Not only did this Los Angeles have The Plague to contend with, but looters seemed to have been prevalent at some point as well. He imagined there were still a few of them lurking about just waiting to see what else they could take from businesses and houses that were currently open to the public for consumption. Spike had never bothered asking how long the creatures had been infiltrating the city as they grew in number, but he could see why it was slowly becoming a ghost town, as whatever could be destroyed already had been- no questions asked. He knew it was the Fyarl part of the hybrid that brought that aspect out to play. This was no doubt their doing. The werewolf half would've been overjoyed at the prospect of ripping anyone and anything in their path to shreds had the situation called for it.

He reached for a chair and successfully snapped one of the legs free with minimal effort, deciding the broken end would serve him well enough in terms of a makeshift stake, summarily tucking it away in the back pocket of his jeans. Not that a stake would do little more than temporarily wound the bastards when it didn't contain a sodding ounce of silver in its composition, but a bloke had to make do with what he had at his disposal. Looking up, he spotted a stairway to his right, and Spike's cerulean gaze followed the steps up to what appeared to be a lengthy set of doors on the second level, one on either side of a wide hallway. He didn't have to formulate a guess as to whether or not Noelle had climbed them, because her scent was so strong it may as well have been a honing beacon at this stage in the game.

And that's all it really was. A game. The chit probably hadn't even considered how fast it would take the baddies to sniff her out and spring into attack mode to see which one of them could reach her precious self first. He still couldn't find a single explanation as to why, but he was more determined than ever to prevent it from happening. There'd be no more bloodshed tonight on his watch or he'd hold himself personally responsible after the fact. He was going to bring her back to the warehouse all safe and sound, and then maybe he'd find a nice dark room to lock himself in and contemplate why it continued to feel like he was so inexplicably drawn to the poor thing in the first place.

Spike hesitantly began climbing the steps, taking care to avoid the interminable creaking that seemed to emanate from below him whenever he attempted to advance further in order to reach the top. Once he'd finally achieved his intended destination, he cautiously crossed the threshold over the carpeted hallway, listening for any sign that might alert him to her presence. It was painfully quiet now, and it occurred to him that it was awfully deliberate- in the most overt sense of the word. He hated to disturb the solitude he knew she was likely seeking, but this wasn't exactly the safest way to go about it. Again, he found himself curious as to what in the bleeding hell she'd been thinking.

Putting his ear to the door of 2C, he reaffirmed his hunch, and gradually began edging it open until he had a decent view inside. There were no curtains shielding the windows from the outside world and whoever had occupied it hadn't even gone to the trouble of nailing anything across it for protection. Spike figured it wouldn't have made a difference either way, because the dried metallic smears on the walls were all he needed to substantiate his claim that the residents who'd lived here prior to the destruction were already dead and long gone due to the malevolence of The Plague.

It was the rectangular pink nameplate sticking out of the debris that confirmed his suspicions, and he slowly bent down to retrieve it, allowing his thumb to graze the six letter engraving carved out upon it. It was then that he heard the barest hint of sniveling. He pocketed the object next to the makeshift stake, and craning his neck ever so slightly, picked up on the shape of her tiny silhouette curled into the corner not ten feet away, her legs drawn up to her chin and her miniscule fingers securely wrapped around them. She rocked back and forth several times before allowing her blue eyes to meet his, shaking light brown curls away from her face, her soft round cheeks stained with tears.

"Don't know what you've got to be sorry about," Spike murmured, attempting mock indifference, as he tentatively crouched in front of her, resting a hand on either of his knees. "Had it real good in your little hidey hole back there. A comfy bed to sleep in and people who looked after you right nice, too. Shouldn't have run away."

Noelle watched him the same way she had back at the warehouse, her gaze following his every move, no matter how subtle. It was more than just mildly disconcerting, and the former vampire shifted his weight a bit, falling into a sitting position beside her and breathing out a much needed sigh of relief. "Don't s'pose I can get you to tell me what you're doing here. Have a few theories lined up myself, but I'd like to hear it from you first." He merely nodded to himself at her lack of a reply once again, already anticipating it. "It didn't take me long to suss you out, though, and your neighborhood pack of beasties can't be far behind. We should be on our way, get you back to Percy and the birds."

When she still didn't make any effort to show she was willing to comply with his proposition, Spike was progressively starting to find himself at his wit's end. He wasn't good with children. Well, scratch that. He was good at _eating_ them when he'd been the big bad, but that was so long ago it may as well have been another lifetime. William the Bloody would've considered her a deliciously nummy treat- a real Happy Meal on legs. And yet, there was something there that made him question whether or not his former soulless self would be capable of harming her when whatever he felt while in her company was so strong now that it was impossible to ignore.

"Work with me here, pet. I'm not gonna rat you out. Just want you all safe and tucked away in your beddy-bye. Not too much to ask, is it?"

"You're not him," she whispered then. Spike turned to her, his eyes widening with some uncertainty, not quite convincing himself that the soft-spoken voice was actually coming from her mouth. The girl hadn't uttered a single word to anyone in the past three months, and now she was suddenly overly eager to engage herself in pleasant conversation. Two and two were not going together, and he had half a mind to wonder if what Wesley had reported even held a morsel of truth to it. Just didn't seem right. "Are you?"

"So, what then? The thought of being here all alone in the dark and dank ruffled your feathers and got you talking again?" When she refused to elaborate, he threw his hands up in a proclamation of defeat, laying his head against the wall. It hadn't escaped him that this side was free of the red stains that gruesomely marred the rest of the apartment's main living area. "All right, we'll have a go at it. Not him, who?"

"You're not my daddy."

For the second time that day, Spike found himself completely flabbergasted. He was feeling as speechless and vulnerable as he had when Tara had taken it upon herself to confront him outright about being in love with Buffy. But this...this went beyond that and then some. It was a well-known fact that vampires were unable to conceive children. What happened with Angel and Darla was a different matter altogether, and had no other powers intervened to set other events into motion, it would've been completely unheard of as well. And up until recently, he wasn't even technically alive. He set his jaw in a tight line, and his right hand curled itself into a loose fist, uncurling only seconds later to run nervously along the leg of his worn jeans. "Uh, _no_. I don't- well, I bloody think I'd remember if I were. Not likely the sort of thing you forget, sweet bit."

"She's not my mommy, either."

He raised an eyebrow. "Again, not sure who-"

"The lady that came with you. Fred said her name started with a B."

"Then no," Spike added, shaking his head, still wondering where in the buggering hell she was getting this from. "Not your mum. Wesley told me your parents aren't here anymore. Beasties got 'em while you slept."

"I asked if they could be," Noelle tried, seeming to have oddly put a fair amount of trust between them as she went on. He really wasn't sure as to why, because he barely knew her. At the same time, another part of him felt like he'd known her all his life. "It's why I came back here. She was supposed to do it. But they're not here. You are, but they're not."

"Why did you think they would be? I mean, not to put a damper on the discussion and all, but it's not really part of the equation, love."

"She said it's what she does. She makes people come back if you say it's okay. I said it was okay, I did. She could see I was sad and told me I wouldn't be sad anymore."

"You've talked to someone else then." It was more of a statement than anything, and the more information he could garner from her, the better he'd be at sticking the sodding missing puzzle pieces together. God, he hated those bleeding puzzles with a passion.

"I didn't want to tell because I didn't want them to be mad. But then you came. I thought it worked."

"Didn't know your mum or dad," he informed her honestly. "Not from around here. But this is where you lived, isn't it? Before the...accident."

"Yes, with William and Anne," she announced, as if she'd spent time memorizing their names for almost all six years of her life. "Daddy talked funny, just like you."

"Is that right? Well, that's 'cuz I'm from England originally." Spike didn't bother to hide his shock any longer. It was written across his beautiful face like an open book. The majority of what he'd been pondering since Tara had approached him outside of the warehouse mere hours ago had been confirmed and in the worst way possible. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

In this world, he and Buffy had somehow found one another just like they had back in his. He doubted their very first meeting had been a fight to the death of slayer verses vampire, but in a nutshell, however they'd met, they'd been really happy. Well, happy enough to have produced a daughter they loved and cherished until their last dying breath. And if both had died, it meant they were mortals on this plane. The William who was here three months prior, alive and well, was a human man who was able to give the woman he was so terribly fond of the kind of life she deserved. A normal life.

He didn't believe it was just by chance that he, too, had been granted that gift of mortality once the other man had ceased to exist. He now felt an aching in his heart that he hadn't experienced since the night he'd been turned. The night Cecily had rejected him and made a total mockery out of the poem he'd written just for her. The same poem he'd proudly gotten the courage to eventually recite in its entirety before a live audience in a bar right before he saved that baby from the Fell Brethren and The Black Thorn was wiped out. He imagined he would've endured that same ache had it been beating all those times Buffy had turned him down, too. But regardless of whatever outcome he'd been subjected to in the past, that's all it ever was. The past. It was his future that remained stagnant and uncertain.

If he stayed here and embraced his altered state, it might be everything he ever wanted, but the harsh reality of it was that it wouldn't be what _Buffy_ wanted. Her life consisted of her little sis and her friends- friends that she'd known too long to risk jeopardizing the bond she shared with them. Spike wanted to be wherever she was. He was obviously conscious of the fact that he now meant something to her, but he just wasn't sure what. Not like this William's Buffy had probably known, at any rate. Or, more specifically, _Anne_. He was so used to having nothing but crumbs thrown his way, and despite how she'd practically given them to him in spades in the training room, he didn't want her to assume she had to automatically be expected to respond to his advances. Especially not the kind that were of the more intimate variety. But who was he kidding? As much as he tried to juggle things about in his head, he was already itching to get back to her.

"Is your mom still alive, Spike?"

Abandoning his own contemplations temporarily, he gave the girl sitting beside him a smile. "Died a long time ago, nibblet."

"Do you miss her?"

"Yeah, I do. But what's done is done. Nothing we can do but move forward, eh?"

"I'm sorry I made that stupid wish," she lamented, her small shoulders professing a quick shrug.

"We'll deal with that later," he admonished. "Right now we need to get you back to your mates before the monsters come for us."

"You won't tell?"

"You _do_ realize you can't keep it a secret forever, don't you? Even if I were to buy you some time, it-" Upon catching just the faintest trace of regret that flickered across her brow, he paused momentarily, waving a hand back and forth as if to brush the bulk of the mess aside for tonight. "But while Buffy and I are here, it might also be a good idea to see what we can do to rectify your little demon problem. Make short work of their numbers."

"Okay."

"Okay," he echoed. "So, ready to make a mad dash for it then, pet?"

"I can see them," Noelle told him, "they're not far."

Immediately shifting himself into an upright position, and determinedly pulling her right along with him, Spike could only blink. "You can _what_ now?"

"I can see them. I can hear them, too."

"Uh huh, and to what do we owe this startling new development to? You're human, aren't you?"

"I'm half of Daddy and half of Mommy."

"Your dad was a vampire?"

She giggled, playfully reaching out a hand to swat his arm. "No, silly, Daddy was a higher being. An Oracle. The Knowing Ones. He said they guide warriors. He wore funny face paint before they finally let him stay with us. Our Oracles get sent down to earth by the Powers That Be. It's how he met Mommy. He fell in love with her and broke the rules. That's why they couldn't let him be there anymore. He could make things into other things, or move stuff with his mind. He could even put people into places in time. Maybe he could have helped you and that lady that's not really my mommy."

"Doubtful. Buffy and I probably wouldn't have come without your wish, and your wish would've never been made had your dad still been here. I would be a vampire and Buffy probably never would've come to L.A. if she hadn't gotten that dream in her subconscious. Get what I'm saying?"

"He said I have the sight. I can see pictures in my head before they happen. That's how I know the bad demons are coming."

Spike thought back to Dru and the unique ability she'd carried with her long before she'd been made into a monster. "Bugger all. You're a seer."

"Yeah, but I didn't want Fred to send me away."

"You were snooping in on our little chat," he muttered, realization rapidly dawning on him. "It's why you took off so fast. Made that wanker Jonathan all want with worry."

Noelle lips formed a slight pout. "I didn't mean to. Honest. I just didn't want her and Wesley to send me away."

"How is it you're able to shield yourself from the witch? Glinda's already pretty powerful, and-"

"Daddy taught me to shut myself off. It's why I didn't talk. But you're not like them. Your hair's really funny, though. Kind of like a ghost."

He laughed as he gently rumpled her curls. His curls. She had his eyes, too, but the shape of her face was all Buff- or rather..._Anne_. That one was going to take awhile to sink in. He wondered if the other woman had always been referred to by her middle name, and if her William had simply answered to Will or Bill. "Sorry what you envisioned for your wish didn't exactly come true, but it doesn't mean you're not cared for. They welcomed you into their family with open arms. It's not that bad."

"Can I go and grab Mr. Fluffy?" she asked quickly, failing to reciprocate or acknowledge the subject any further. "Wesley never let me get him when he took me out. I think I left him on my bed."

"Make it right quick," Spike advised, still struggling to process the bulk of what she'd confided in him, and unable to hide the wince that crossed his face when he heard the first howl pierce the air from below. He was somewhat out of practice, but he reckoned they were going to have to make a jump for it. Once the creatures determined they had the correct place, they wouldn't hold back in tearing the foundation limb from limb to use any means necessary to reach the young girl. It occurred to him that they might want her for more than just the sport of the kill. Then again, up until about five minutes ago, he hadn't even known she was a bloody seer.

Spike had expected a scared little bit who was afraid of her own shadow. What he got was just the opposite. A brave girl who had overcome a great loss and wanted nothing more than to see the parents so brutally taken from her, thereby resorting to forming a pact with a vengeance demon to make her wish come true. It hadn't. It had been a complete misfire, and the choice that had compelled him to follow Buffy through that portal wasn't solely his own. He'd had a little help there. But he already knew he would've done it anyway, regardless of any magical interference. He'd put aside all preconceived notions in terms of what Noelle was currently capable of, as it was plainly evident her upbringing had played a large role there. He still wanted to assist her as best he knew how, and in spite of everything he'd just learned, he was voluntarily lending that assistance because it was truly the right thing to do. He just wasn't sure if the odds were in his favor when he considered the possibility of making it out of the apartment complex with his entrails intact.

The sound of boards being viciously pried from the first floor immediately snapped him to attention, and he hurriedly stalked over to the nearest window, insanely comforted when the lock snapped open and he was able to free it with little to no trouble at all. A fire escape greeted him on the other side, and he was thoroughly relieved he wouldn't have to try and test the nine lives he didn't have. "Time to make a break for it, nibblet!"

Noelle emerged with a large blue stuffed animal cuddled within her grasp, grabbing a hold of his shoulders as he lifted her up and gathered her close to him, gingerly easing her petite body through the opening, instructing her to latch onto the railing and wait for him. She let out a cry just as a clawed hand clamped itself roughly over the sole of his boot, forcefully yanking him back into the building with a savage tug and sending him sprawling facedown onto the floor, his right cheekbone enduring the worst of the impact.

Groaning, he arduously picked himself up as he tried to shake off the impromptu assault, his vision somewhat blurred while he pressed on and blindly struck out at his attacker, feeling his fist connect with flesh. Demonic flesh. When he was finally able to steal a peek at what had charged him and initiated the ongoing spell of violence, he found himself staring back into a disturbingly vacant gaze surrounded by horns and tufts of sparse fur, the tattered remains of clothing just barely clinging to the oversized frame. Wesley's description had more or less been spot on. The hybrid who opted for a second go at it had nothing even remotely resembling humanity left in him. It was full on demon, in its purest form. No remorse, and nothing but the overpowering need to quench the insane thirst for blood.

Retrieving the stake from his back pocket, he concealed it securely behind his back as he watched the demon regain his equilibrium and come at him again, reaching forth and plunging the wooden implement right between his eyes seconds before he lost his own footing and was mercilessly backhanded to the ground. He could only pray that it wouldn't leave a mark, but the other guy had a much bigger dilemma than the both of them right now, and was at present failing wretchedly to remove the object that severely impaired his vision and was wedged in his cranium. Spike took that as his cue and hopped aboard the fire escape with Noelle, scooping her up into his arms again and beginning the descent downward. "Don't wager it'd be in your best interest to leave that warehouse anymore, pigeon. At least not while it's still night."

She grimly nodded, clinging to Mr. Fluffy with one hand, and wrapping the other around Spike's neck as she nuzzled her face into his chest. "I promise," she whispered. "I promise."

"Gotta get you-" He stopped and tensed when he felt a warm hand over his back, whipping around to find a crossbow carrying Buffy behind him, the surprise in his blues manifesting along with a sense of appeasement. "Slayer! Well, fancy seeing you here. Just in the nick, I might add."

"Oh please," she scoffed. "If you think I'm just gonna let this go after you decided you had to go play hero and earn yourself an award for being a stubborn son of a-"

He silenced her with a swift brush of his lips against hers, and smoothly ran his thumb over a fraction of her jawline. "Mind the language, would you? Think this one's far too young to be adding it to the extent of her vocabulary."

"Yeah, and you're not making with the fangs anymore, remember? You left without anything to defend yourself with. This isn't the- you know what? Forget it. Just forget it. We'll pick it up later when I'll take extreme pleasure in giving you a long, drawn out lecture on why we don't..." The warm flush she felt grace her cheeks was cause enough for an awkward pause, and she very lightly cleared her throat to distract from it. The touch of his mouth on hers was making her somewhat lightheaded. "O-okay, stopping now. _So_ stopping now."

"Feeling okay?" he teased, raising a suggestive brow in her direction.

"Wesley went around back, and we've got a couple of guys taking up point on the front," she pushed on, ignoring him. "How many?"

"Can't say. One accounted for and in pain upstairs, but as for whatever else is lurking about the perimeter, too tough to call. If there were others, they may have already fled. Wouldn't want to stick around for the fireworks when they didn't get what they came for. You sure you're okay?"

"Me?" she blanched, yet increasingly touched by his concern. "What about you, Mr. Bond? You've got quite the nasty shiner there, and that cheekbone has a bruise the size of Texas."

"Hey, it'll heal, remember? But there's something you probably should know. I was gonna tell you when we were settled in all cozy like, but I don't think it can wait." There were shouts coming from all around the lodging now, and he gathered Percy and his friends had made short work of anything that was still hanging around near the premises. Either that, or they had possibly succeeded in chasing it off into the night with the affirmation of embedded silver. He would bet a thick wad of cash that The Plague hadn't sent in their very best for the job, and in all likelihood assumed they'd be able to finish it off clean without so much as a hitch or scratch. Which meant it therefore couldn't be boding too well for the one he'd managed to incapacitate and piss off before incurring his very own set of scrapes and bruises in the process. It always seemed to be a recurring theme with him, fangs or no. "Just for the record, I knew you'd come. Wouldn't be right if you didn't."

"Spike-"

"The pictures in the album. They're of us. Aren't they, Buffy?" he stepped in, cutting to the quick of it. "Her album. The one she wouldn't part with."

"But it's not, is it? I-I mean not really. It's the us that was here. You have brown hair and hers was a little darker than mine is now. It's still us, just _not_...us. Did that even sound right?"

"William and Anne," he clarified for her. "He was a Knowing One and she was some sort of warrior on the side of good."

"Sounds like a kind of fairy tale," she commented softly, her green eyes hopeful.

"Yeah, but one that didn't exactly have a happy ending. No need to sugarcoat it. He gave up so much for her, and she loved him just the same. I couldn't fathom creating something so precious and not being able to say goodbye to her. All things considered, the ponce should've seen it coming."

"Seen it coming?" Buffy repeated, confused. "What-"

"I believe the official term is Oracle. Angel's dealt with 'em on occasion, but the ones here are not quite like the ones in our world. Some of the facts don't match up. William was cast out after he fell for a human. After that, he somehow went and retained those nifty superpowers of his. A lot like me. Came here a bleeding vampire, shed the bumpy forehead region, but can still put up one heck of a fight. Must've been predestined for her to inherit his abilities. It's, uh...it's why she ran. Thought they were gonna get rid of her and send her away 'cuz they couldn't find anyone to look after her. Didn't want to be alone."

Buffy reached over and ran a hand lightly through Noelle's curls, watching as the girl flinched from her touch, her lids on the verge of falling closed due to an obvious lack of sleep. She slowly began to relax and let her head fall back onto Spike's shoulder. "This complicates things," she told him. "You know that. But it doesn't explain why we're-"

"Yes, it does. She made a wish. Wanted her parents back the way they were. Appears we were awfully good substitutes there."

"Convenient," the slayer muttered. "So she...Noelle talked to you?"

"She did, and you were right. Said she was mum about things back at the warehouse 'cuz she wanted to stay. Not that there wasn't any shock there when she witnessed what she did, but she's strong- resilient. She won't crack."

"We need to find that vengeance demon. Get her to fess up and undo it."

"No complaints here," he agreed. "Give her a good thrashing while we're at it, too. Rip her eyes out of her sockets."

Buffy only rolled hers. "Is this still soulful Spike talking, or have we transitioned into William the Bloody territory?"

"Take your pick, love."

"They're gone," Wesley established, as he approached from the back of the building, rifle in hand and aiming a rather pointed glare in Spike's direction. "But you've maimed one of their own. It's not something they'll take lightly, and I suspect they might see it as involving a fair amount of revenge on their part. I can't say it's something we're prepared for, and we'll likely need to acquire more weapons- though I wouldn't be surprised if you've just provoked an all-out war. This girl must be of extreme importance for them to go to such lengths to fetch her. It also goes a long way to explain the numerous attacks they've staged upon us within a span of only a few months' time, coinciding with the murder of her parents soon after that."

"War?" Spike reiterated. "What the hell do you mean by _war_?"

"War in the most literal sense of it, I believe, as the demon upstairs was one of their leaders."


	11. Chapter 10: Daylight

A/N: This is the last complete chapter I have written. I do, however, have a good part of chapter 11 already done, so the wait should be about 4-5 days for it. Look for it later on this week.

Chapter Ten: Daylight

_"We must not fear daylight just because it illuminates a miserable world."_  
- Rene Magritte

Spike fought mercilessly to shield himself from the warm glow that slowly crept in through the boarded up window adjacent to the cot he'd spent the night in, impatiently waiting for his blue eyes to adjust to the abrupt intrusion, his blonde hair a rumpled mess of curls. No sooner had he lifted a hand to stifle the sun's persistent rays, he was rapidly yanking it back and cradling it protectively against the expanse of his bare chest, his lithe form hastily climbing off of the makeshift bed and seeking solace in the shadows. The surprisingly miniscule room offered very little in the way of them, and he shook his head in frustration, struggling madly to compose himself and get his bearings.

He heard the overly anxious beating of his heart echo wildly in his ears, and in gradual increments everything suddenly came flooding back, his wide palm feeling the steady thump of an organ he'd only recently grown accustomed to using again. Wiggling his fingers in front of him as calmly as he could manage, he hesitantly brought them directly into the shards of light that continued to filter in, his breath hitching when he didn't start smoking or bursting into flame.

Human. He was still human.

It had all seemed like a dream- although a dream was just one of the reasons they were here. More specifically, _Buffy's_ dream. A prophetic series of events that had all culminated in the form of an innocent wish made by a little girl who just wanted her dead parents back. He was a real boy because some poor sod with his face had to die in order for it to happen. Well, maybe real was too strong a term for it. He'd still managed to retain all of his vamp abilities. Strength, smell, and even enhanced vision. But those welcome advantages weren't going to save the grumbling noise that was currently emanating from the pit of his stomach. A stomach that was used to consuming a diet of mostly blood with the occasional onion blossom or spicy buffalo wing thrown in- not to mention the Weetabix and burba weed he'd often stir in to give the blood flavor. A habit Buffy often found rather appalling.

Spike sighed and ran the pad of his thumb the length of his jaw, touching the thin dark layer of stubble that had only recently settled there, noting with some disgust that he was in desperate need of a razor and a can of shaving cream to remedy the situation. But that also meant stealing a glimpse or two of his own features as he engaged himself in that particular task, and he wasn't quite sure he was ready for that yet. He just didn't know what he'd find staring back at him. It had been an awfully long while since he'd seen his own reflection outside the wonders and realm of photography. The stuttering poet with the wrinkled suit and spectacles who'd loved his mother dearly was nothing but a memory to him. That man hadn't existed since the night he'd met Drusilla.

What he needed now was a cold shower and a nice big breakfast to soothe and counteract the persistent ache of hunger. A pile of clean white towels had been clumsily propped up beside his cot, and he quickly reached for one as he exited, intent on making his way to the bathroom located at the end of the hall. It was almost deathly quiet as his bare feet made the short journey to his destination, and he relished it with a kind of fondness after the chaos that had so dangerously erupted the day before. The door creaked slightly as he shut it behind him, and Spike leaned his frame against it, noting with some disdain that it had no lock.

Perfect. Bloody perfect.

Part of him was yearning to see what Buffy was up to, and that other part of him was still buzzing with dozens of questions he honestly couldn't fathom how to ask her. It had been a mutual agreement between the two of them to reside in separate rooms, and he'd had a pretty good idea it was basically because he'd implied in no uncertain terms that he might be tempted to do things he wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't come to regret in the morning. While he was positive those who occupied the warehouse with him weren't the type who sought to pry and stick their noses in it, the very thought of engaging in any sort of suggestive foreplay had been outright extinguished when he factored in the possibility of the bit walking in on them. There was also that minor tidbit about whether or not he should take such a chance to get even closer to her when he wasn't even thoroughly convinced he was just transiently filling a void that was meant for the poof back home. She'd likely deny it, of course, but his doubts were ever present.

Spike knew he'd be fooling himself if he claimed the images the slayer saw from her bed in Rome didn't pain him once he'd sussed out the reality of why and precisely when she'd had them flashing in and out of her brain, conveniently planting the cries a young girl was sending for help. Try as he might, he just couldn't shake the strong probability that Buffy's sole reason for trekking it to Los Angeles was more for Noelle than anything else. She may have initially surmised Angel needed her, but it seemed her actions upon arriving had already been mapped out courtesy of one of D'Hoffryn's sodding vengeance demon trollops. If they did, by some miraculous account, find said trollop and push her into revoking the wish, would that mean Buffy would find herself back in the comfort of her warm apartment with her little sis and Andrew, and have absolutely no memory of what she'd seen or done? Or would it play out more like the wish Dawn had made on Buffy's birthday, where the consequences ultimately had to be confronted and dealt with in the aftermath?

Either way, her safety and respect meant a hell of a lot more to him than a quick shag, and he'd be perfectly fine with settling for kissing her senseless instead. As he rid himself of his jeans and stepped under the soothing spray of the shower, Spike was careful to avoid the compact mirror he knew would be positioned directly above the rusty gray sink. A beating heart was one thing. Seeing your visage in the mirror for the first time in over a hundred bloody years was something else entirely.

He knew he wasn't bad looking. He wouldn't find the likes of Quasimodo glaring back at him, and if the response from various women over those hundred years was to be taken with anything but a grain of salt, he essentially had nothing to worry about. Still, he just wasn't in the mood to add more fuel to an already growing fire.

He braced his hands against the wall and continued to let the water wash over him for a moment before helping himself to one of the many boxes of unopened soap that were stacked near the far corner of the tub. Percy apparently thought of everything. Or maybe it was that Fred bird, as she seemed to be at the top of her game with that ever increasing I.Q. of hers. The chit was forever modest, despite being a bleeding genius. The Fred in his world had been no different. This one may have edged her out in the book department, but not by much.

Rinsing himself clean of the suds that had gathered, he reached over and turned the knob off, absentmindedly taking the white towel from the hand that was dangling it in his direction. A hand that clearly didn't belong to him. He only froze for a fraction of an instant, moving to hastily secure and wrap it around his waist, whipping the shower curtain open and breathing a much needed sigh of relief when his gaze finally landed on and identified the culprit. "Bloody hell. Come to give a bloke a heart attack?"

Rather than drum up one of her usual cunning gibes for him, the flustered slayer was rapidly finding herself strangely distracted by the extremely appealing sight in front of her, her mind wandering to some pretty naughty places as she found herself unable to draw her green eyes away from a pair of rock hard abs and the well-defined muscles in both his arms. He'd definitely been busy since donning an amulet and saving the world. His wet platinum blonde hair was untamed and full of curls, and she saw him run his fingers through it a couple of times before turning his attention back to her, his blue eyes more prominent against the navy hue that adorned the bathroom walls. Buffy swallowed nervously, unable to avoid the way in which he was now studying her, the emotion evident and raw upon his face. Her throat was feeling somewhat constricted, as he'd gone from playful to wanting to practically devouring her in a matter of seconds. All she could think was that the man she loved- the one man she could now imagine settling down and building some semblance of a life with, was slowly making her dissolve into a puddle of sappy goo.

"Something wrong, pet?" Spike arched a curious brow in her direction, taking a single step toward her. "Everyone all accounted for?"

She tried backing away just a tad and found her back trapped up against the sink she'd suddenly forgotten was there. Great. Good going, Summers. It was becoming all the more obvious why refusing to share that room had been a really smart thing to do. "Yeah, I...I mean, it's...they said to tell you that-"

"Buffy, it's just me." When she didn't utter another peep, he only rolled his eyes, nodding to himself somewhat dejectedly. "Right then. I'll make it real simple, yeah? If there's something you came up here to say to me, I'm all ears, love."

"I..."

Seeing an opening in the speechless state she'd somehow gone and found herself in, Spike smiled, gently placing a hand on either side of the sink, effectively caging her in the same way he'd done in the alleyway. Only now he wasn't nearly as forgiving regarding the consequences. "Maybe if you'd been here a tad earlier, you could've joined me."

Her eyes widened at the implication and she felt her cheeks grow rather hot as a result. "Breakfast!" she blurted out.

"Beg your pardon?"

"Tara wanted me to tell you breakfast was ready. Yeah, so you can just...well, she wanted me to let you know that you can come down whenever you want. I mean whenever you're dressed, or...whatever."

"You're skittish 'cuz of _breakfast_?" he inquired. "What exactly does the witch have on that menu of hers? Roasted Fyarl Wolf?"

"I am _not_ skittish!" she hissed, as she proceeded to give him a fairly light smack across his chest. His very _bare_ and well-muscled chest. "Besides, that is so not funny, mister. You almost got your butt handed to you last night by one of them."

"You're red as a beet, Slayer."

The remark only served to deepen the shade of crimson already scattered across her cheeks. "You're impossible! It's not my fault that I...you know, I think this would go a lot easier if you'd just go and put some clothes on."

"I could," he murmured blithely, as his lips moved close to hers. "But that would require some motivation on my part, and I'm afraid I'm fresh out of it at the moment. Maybe if you ask real nice, I might feel generous enough to oblige."

"Spike, I'm serious. You could have died out there. That little girl downstairs cares about you, and I-"

"You what?" he prodded. "Care about me, too? Don't flatter yourself. After what I found out last night from the bit, I'm not even sure if there's an ounce of sodding truth in anything over here anymore- much less what'll happen the minute we track down that demon. All it is, is bleeding pretense."

"You bastard," she whispered, her expression torn between irritation and bafflement, as she went to duck underneath the barrier of the strong arms that had been cogently shutting her in, successfully freeing herself from the temporary prison. "You selfish son of a- hey!"

Spike groaned and immediately curled his fingers around her wrist, dragging her back into the room before pushing her flat against the wall, gingerly moving in to cup her face within the palm of each hand. "What is this to you?"

It was the same question he'd asked her when they were lying on the floor of his crypt and were basking in the afterglow of what she'd deemed a rather fantastic round of sex. Always missing the bed, always so quick to refrain from uttering too many words, but for once having somewhat of a brief, yet normal conversation between the two of them and actually enjoying it. He'd been without a soul back then, and it'd come to a point where she was all too aware of how much she'd taken to using him to fill whatever void had taken up residence within her when Willow had gone and resurrected her from the grave. But this was different. The way in which he was currently addressing her was _different_, and she hadn't expected him to be so forthright, yet oddly sincere. "Maybe later, when-"

"Reckon we've had more than enough 'laters' to last us five bloody lifetimes, don't you think?" Her eyes were closed now, but he would bet everything he had that her lashes were wet, and he was coming so close to begging that the mere thought of it was starting to unhinge him. "Buffy, look at me."

"Let me go," she mumbled. The vampire she'd last seen in Sunnydale had practically been averse to confrontation once he became a changed man, and the mortal in front of her had made it painfully clear he was aiming for the opposite approach. She'd had a speech perfected and prepared in advance, but it continuously seemed to die in her throat whenever she found herself in his presence. It made her wonder if she secretly rejected the level of commitment she so badly wanted to commit to because she still didn't believe she was worthy- even in spite of everything aimed toward the contrary.

"Can't keep avoidin' it," he pressed, as if reading her mind. "Like it or not, we need to talk. Been through too much not to."

"Can...can we just not? I mean that isn't what's happening here, and you don't-"

"Then what _is_ happening here? Clue me in already, 'cuz I'm apparently as helpless as a kitten up a tree. Do we have something, or are you just gonna keep giving me crumbs?"

"Spike, please."

"Oh, no, go ahead. If you think you've got something you should add, I won't be holding you back." He laughed, shaking his head while he tried to compose himself, expecting the very worst. "Bollocks, I'm so in love with you that I can't see straight, but if all you're gonna do is lead me on again, you can bloody well forget-"

"It's real," she whispered, finally picking her head up, her green eyes glistening with tears. She slid a shaky hand hesitantly over his chest, stopping to let it rest over his heart. She smiled when she felt the steady beat of it thump beneath her touch. "You and me. _Us_," she then emphasized. "I...I mean that's if you still want there to be an us."

"You can't possibly be that daft," he returned, frowning.

"What? But you just said-"

He swallowed her protests with his lips as they collided with hers, lifting her so she could wrap her legs around his waist, her arms winding themselves tightly around his neck and threading through the damp blonde curls that clung to the base with her fingers. She needed to keep touching, needed to keep feeling, because she knew that all that she held dear could be ripped away from her without a moment's notice. She desperately found herself clinging to it like a lifeline, refusing to let go in fear that she might float away and drown for all her troubles.

Deep down, she craved his acceptance and wanted to show him that she was completely there with him, body and soul. It was more primitive than anything she'd ever experienced with Angel, and the dawning realization hit her like a ton of bricks as her mouth continued to plunder his, feeling almost guilty for not owning up to what she likely already knew in that cemetery after defeating Caleb with her scythe. Spike was most certainly in her heart, but he was so much more than that now- he _was_ her heart. To have felt that heart beating beneath her hand had been nothing short of a miracle. It filled her with just the right amount of hope that the two of them could have something to look forward to when everything wasn't so convoluted and topsy-turvy.

She could feel her own arousal betraying her as she began to grind her hips roughly against him, plainly aware of just how strongly he was responding to her. The white towel that still sat snuggly around his waist did precious little to hide the erection she felt in the training room the day before, and she wasn't about to object to it. It made up for all of the dark and lonely nights she'd spent in Italy mulling over what could've been and what sadly was- never getting the chance to prove something to herself and to him.

Spike broke the contact to rain kisses along her collarbone, his hands gripping her thighs as he pushed her even closer to him. Seconds later, he was drawing her away somewhat abruptly and much to her immediate dismay, berating himself as she barely concealed a moan. "Hey, so totally enjoying the moment here. Why the heck did you-"

"Need to make sure it's something we both want, love. If you're-"

"I do," she informed him quietly. "You know I do."

"No regrets?" He placed her back on her feet and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Don't want anything between us anymore."

"Nothing between us," she repeated as innocently as she could. "But does that also happen to include the towel you're wearing? Because I could really get used to seeing you without one again."

He tilted his head and gave her a quick grin, placing a feather light nip upon her nose. "Just think it would better if I tended to you right and proper in a nice comfy bed is all."

"Buffy? Is everything okay up there? Food's getting cold."

"That would be Tara," the slayer added almost dismissively, so badly wanting to stay exactly where she was. "Look, get dressed and meet me downstairs. Much as I hate to admit this, we're still gonna have to right your little wrong somehow, or Wesley thinks this place will be overrun with The Plague tonight. Plus, I think some of the others want to meet you. They want us all paired off in those two groups Fred mentioned so we can each take a shift. But I told them I wasn't going anywhere without you."

"Like me, do you?"

"Well, maybe just a little," she advocated, the corners of her mouth about to twitch into a small smile.

"Jonathan get over his little panic attack, did he?"

She rolled her eyes. "He was threatening to tie Noelle to a chair. Thankfully, they were able to talk him out of it. Just barely, mind you, but I think he'll be okay."

"Don't s'pose they have an in-house therapist here," he retorted.

"Doubtful, but I guess I can't blame them for being really tense with all that's been going on. Now that they know the kid's been the target all along, it goes without saying that we have to step up our game. I was thinking about holding training sessions and charging an affordable rate."

"Good on you then." Retrieving his jeans, he departed from the bathroom and started off down the hall.

She trailed behind him when he entered the interim sanctuary, her line of vision tracking the remnants of sunlight that passed through the boarded up window, a pair of inquisitive green eyes falling on him again as he purposely went out of his way to dodge the incoming streams. It hadn't occurred to her that he would still be in the process of adjusting to his newfound mortal status- a status he hadn't even made an effort to stumble upon by choice. Things that would've seemed so utterly commonplace to him as William, might be reasonably jarring to a human Spike. "I'm guessing you didn't catch the sunrise this morning," she mumbled jokingly, attempting to brighten the mood. If the glare he tossed her way was any indication of where she stood on that one, maybe _brighten_ wasn't such a good fit after all, especially since it basically coincided with what the man to her right was actively trying to evade in his surprisingly difficult quest to successfully dress himself. She turned around when his towel hit the floor, and had to bite her bottom lip to keep from reversing her position and catching what she already knew would be an eyeful. A very pleasant eyeful from everything she remembered. The man was _built_.

"Breakfast is calling. Best you get downstairs and have some, eh?"

'We could do that sometime, you know. I...I mean, if you wanted..."

"Have breakfast?" Spike returned distractedly, as he slipped into a ratty hooded green sweatshirt, hastily zipping it up before fetching his combat boots. "Thought that's exactly what we were doing, Slayer. Spindles in your head going a bit wonky, are they?"

"I meant watch the sunrise," she offered fondly. "I imagine you've been missing it all these years, and-"

"Can't miss what you forgot had a place here. 'Sides, it's not like I'll be seeing many more anyway by the time we get back. Unless of course I'm plotting to kill myself by default. Which, given the nature of the situation we've found ourselves in, wouldn't be all that far off."

"Spike-"

"No," he interrupted, bending down to lazily stuff his jeans into his black boots. "Leave it. None of it holds any weight, Buffy. None of it. And if you think I'll sit idly by and play a role that hasn't suited me in over a hundred years, you're sadly mistaken. I am what I am, and it'll always be a part of me. A sodding wish isn't gonna change that."

"Then you'll, what? Forego what we _normal_ people do so you can keep punishing yourself for sins you've already started atoning for? Gee, now who does that remind me of?"

"Don't say his name," he warned her, as he rose from the cot and advanced on her, his blues narrowing. "You and I both know I'm nothing like that ponce. He brooded half his life away once he got that soul, and it's not like he even asked for it. Bunch of gypsies cursed him and made with the magic so he could feel remorse and eat filthy rats in a buggering alleyway. I was a willing participant, so maybe the skin I'm most at home in just happens to be the kind that doesn't have a pulse."

"But you have the abilities you had when you were still a vampire. You-"

"Buffy."

"What about me?" she demanded harshly. "Don't _I_ get a say in this when I just about gave myself to you back there and told you I could see spending the rest of my life with you? Doesn't that- isn't it enough for you? Or are you just gonna throw it all away because you've grown fond of not hearing your own stupid heartbeat?"

"I want it," Spike breathed, "and I want you. But it doesn't mean I'll get it, does it? William and Anne were fortunate to have what they did. Made themselves into a right cozy family 'til tragedy came and took it all away. If we got that chance, who's to say the same won't happen to us? It shakes me, is what it does. Makes it all muddled so I can't see past the bad. I love you, Buffy, and I will always love what you are, but even if wishes were bleeding horses, it doesn't guarantee they'll work in our favor."

"So you think it's better to lose what you never had, instead of trying to find some kind of happiness with what you do?"

"Didn't say that," he amended.

"You took a huge risk and got your soul, didn't you? You had a vague idea of what the outcome would be, but you still took that risk."

"Wanted to give you what I couldn't give you without one."

"And you never once considered that I might want you whether you're human or not? That none of it changes the man you've become?"

"All right, you've got me there. But don't think for a minute that we're done here. We haven't even scratched the-"

"Uh, are y'all okay in here?" A nervous Fred Burkle clothed in a long purple dress, black sweater and matching black boots stood staring back at the two of them, freeing her glasses from atop the bridge of her nose as she meticulously went about polishing the lenses. It was a habit Buffy had grown fully accustomed to when she'd been around Giles and he'd been foolishly thrown into the ring at the expense of being subjected to hearing Anya talk to Xander about having lots and lots of orgasms. While the discussion between her and Spike hadn't been as...heated as that, she had it on good authority that the occupants who lived here didn't go and hop aboard the never-ending train of gossip. "Charles thought you two were about ready to jump each other, so he asked me to intervene on behalf of Group B. Not that I'd ever interfere if you were actually in the middle of it, but I get a little uncomfortable when I think about people having various stages of intercourse when there's a church so close."

"An abandoned church," Spike corrected, smirking. "Unless of course you birds have kidnapped a priest and have him stashed away in here somewhere."

"Who's Charles?" Buffy echoed, dutifully paying no mind to the man next to her.

"Charles Gunn. He was already on patrol when you arrived last night. You better hurry and get down there, too, because he'd probably eat the table if he could. He's that hungry."

"Don't s'pose you have any Weetabix on hand?"

Fred scrunched up her nose, as she went about restoring her glasses to their rightful spot. "Weetabix?"

"Cereal with plenty of tasty goodness. Used to stir it in with my blood."

"We have eggs, toast, bacon, and pancakes," she swiftly rattled off as she did what she could not to gape endlessly at his candid admission. "I...well I could ask Wesley to check the basement, but I'm pretty sure I'd know if we did."

"That'll be fine," Buffy advocated, smiling. "Sounds good."

"I didn't know if you guys were coffee or orange juice, but we have those, too. Noelle likes chocolate milk, and we've gone and made an exception considering the circumstances. But don't let her fool you into having any cookies until after lunch."

"Razor and shavin' cream?" Spike requested.

"I'll have them brought up by noon," the brunette assured him. "You probably already know that Wesley's quite upset with you after- they're all talking about it. You managed to trigger a disruption to the nervous system and take one of their leaders out the first time you came into contact with him. He's not dead, but that's something of a big deal in these parts. I've only touched base with the effects the silver was having. Werewolves killed with a silver bullet, Fyarls stabbed with a silver object. Pretty simple and straightforward, right? Plus, it was serving us real well considering the hybrid connection. But now..."

"Something in the wood's composition?" he suggested, shrugging.

"There doesn't appear to be, although I'm currently still in the process of analyzing it. I've only ever read about wooden stakes killing vampires, and even that was somewhat of a stretch- what with the general lack of them in this town and all."

"Got one up on the Science Queen, did I?"

She giggled. "Not yet, but there's always more to learn. You just have to know where to look."

"And Noelle," Buffy queried. "She's...doing good?"

"Good as can be expected, I guess. It's fascinating, though, isn't it?" she confessed excitedly. "To have existed between two worlds and not ever having seen your paths cross? Tara told me you had a Winifred, too, but that she's no longer with you. Seems like we could've been like sisters if I'd gotten the chance to know her. Would've been able to pick each other's brains to see what makes us tick."

"You givin' them the academic rundown again?" a booming voice from farther down the hall readily brought forth.

"Charles!" she beamed, extremely overjoyed to see him, as he swiftly yanked her in for a great big bear hug, his towering frame bending to her level.

"These must be the two new recruits," he supplied, his brown eyes zeroing in on Buffy and Spike with a decent amount of wonder. "Or should I say lust bunnies? Already got a pool goin' on with the guys about how long it'll take you to surrender to all that unrequited passion. My money's on tonight. Well, it would be if I actually had some. But a guy's gotta dream big, right?"

"I somehow find myself sharing Fred's uncomfortableness," Buffy deadpanned, chiming in.

"Afraid you won't be gettin' any tickets to the show, Charlie Boy. Sorry to disappoint."

Gunn grinned and gave Spike a fleeting pat on the back. "Hey, I like him," he told Fred. "We need a sense of humor around here. Been way too dull since Captain Wesley took control of the fort."

"He's only trying to look out for us," she pointed out. "Besides, it's not like you're being held hostage against your will. You're free to go at any time."

"Nah. Still wanna stick around for the fireworks when we finally get the upper hand on these guys. Found some nesting in the old Farber loft last night and blew the place all to hell. Don't think they were too keen on safety in numbers, 'cuz all we counted were four. Made short work of 'em in no time flat, so we were out of there alive and happy."

"I'm sure Wesley will be pleased to hear it."

"I don't know if Mr. Cranky Pants is up for it. He's been goin' on and on about etiquette and failure to yield down there. Makes my ears bleed. Think he missed his calling as one of those stuffy college professors."

"Really, Charles, is it so bad that he just wants things to run smoothly around here?"

"It is if it means he's gonna make me miserable." He turned to Spike then, clasping his hands together with a loud slap, causing the former vampire to wince. "So, English, you up for a little tour in weaponry? Figure it might be a good time to show you a few of my closest friends."

"And your closest friends just happen to be guns."

"They're loyal and they never stray. Can't complain about that."

"Mind if the slayer here tags along after we grab a bite?"

"No problem. Got awhile before my next shift, which I trust you two will be joinin' us on tonight when night falls."

Spike's jaw tightened considerably when Gunn moved in to give him another slap on the back. "Great. Can hardly wait."


	12. Chapter 11: Moments

Chapter Eleven: Moments

_"A moment can be left inside the memory of time."_  
- Munia Khan

Angel pulled open the door to the well-lit shop with a fair amount of trepidation, taking an unneeded breath as his dark eyes feigned interest and perused the methodically kept shelves in front of him, his hands amply falling into the pockets of his long black coat. It was, if anything, a last resort. He'd been on the verge of contacting Giles fifteen minutes prior to his arrival, but even taking into account Illyria's unwavering persistence on the matter, the vampire had ultimately declined and decided to confront his own issues head-on instead. He also didn't feel comfortable making a request that required Willow to drop whatever she was doing and hurriedly find them some kind of magically enhanced entrance to another plane when she was probably wary of helping to begin with. There might still be some demons in town who likely knew the journey by heart, and given a well negotiated price, would no doubt come through for him in a pinch. As it stood, he needed more names and more answers to make that happen- neither of which he'd any luck with. He surmised that it was mostly due to the fact that his recently acquired contacts were nearly past the point of being tapped out completely. To say that time was running short was an understatement.

He'd managed to find an updated phone number for Buffy's residence in Rome after he'd searched the duffel she'd left behind at Spike's apartment, but try as he might, Angel couldn't deny that he was feeling more than just a little guilty for having conducted an unwarranted invasion of her privacy. Then again, another part of him clearly felt like he'd had absolutely no other choice in the matter- especially when it was her life on the line. A record of the call she'd made to Dawn was logged into her cell, and he was even now wrestling with the prospect of telling her younger sister that the slayer wasn't going to be making the trip home anytime soon. Even if Buffy had somehow had her phone on her when the demon had taken her through the portal, he knew the chances were slim that the reception in an alternate dimension would carry through the proper channels to reach him.

"You should not be here," a voice immediately professed from the opposite end of the room, a small woman with jet black hair and wide brown eyes emerging from beneath a sequined curtain, her pale blue dress flowing behind her as she approached him with a slight scowl marring her pretty face.

"Yeah, I get that a lot," he quipped. "The thing is, I'm not here about me."

She placed her hands upon her hips, studying him for a moment longer before averting her gaze to re-adjust the position of an item that sat upon the counter near the cash register. "Of course. Another vampire with a soul. Yours derived from a curse. Romani, is it not?"

"Good call, although not exactly earth-shattering, given your profession." He cleared his throat, struggling just a tad with his patience. "But again, not why I'm here. If you're worthy of the praise that's come your way, you should've been able to figure that out, too."

Madame Florea nodded. "Yes, I believe I'm already familiar with that of which you seek. I only hope you can understand why I am unable to give it to you."

"You told them something," Angel pressed. "Something important. I need to know what that is. There's no patient confidentiality clause here, and if we're being honest, I'm not exactly getting any younger."

"She does not belong to you," she added simply. "It is not meant for you to control her fate."

"I'm not looking to control fate," he retorted. "I'm just looking to bring her back alive. She's trapped, and ten to one you saw it coming before it happened." Without waiting for an invitation, he sat himself down in one of the empty chairs located just outside the room he deduced she conducted her readings in, stubbornly planting his arms across his chest. "I was also paid a little visit earlier that was supposed to have me shaking in my boots. Instead it just pissed me off."

"It is because of this visit in question that your motives have nothing to do with love, and everything to do with jealousy," she observed quietly, nodding. "You harbor this jealousy. It grows stronger the longer she is away. Tell me. Who is it you really desire to help? Yourself, or this woman you claim to possess such strong feelings for?"

"Well, as much as it pains me to say this, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to leave Spike there, either. But I can't reach them unless I have more information. The child who made the wish spoke to a vengeance demon. When D'Hoffryn came to see me he mentioned he settled a debt. The Senior Partners are involved, although I'm not sure to which extent. If you could just-"

"Senior Partners," she murmured. "Yes, I have heard of them. Ruthless and with great power. You would do wise to steer clear of that path. The debt you speak of was settled without bloodshed because this child is important to them. It is not your slayer they mean to do business with. Not yet. Her recent ties to this girl have most certainly not gone unnoticed by them, and in more ways than one. The Plague may soon be one leader short."

"Plague?" Angel repeated, his brow creased somewhat in confusion. "A sickness?"

"A race of demons who know only fear. If you should find a way through this portal, they will do whatever they can to try and stop you- using whatever means they deem necessary. They have been taught to hunt, maim, and kill."

"Great, and here I thought I'd just be dealing with a smug demon and a handful of lawyers." He slowly rose to his full height, his handsome face gradually shifting into its vampiric countenance. He advanced on her in a few short steps, dangerously closing the space between them- grabbing both of her shoulders and roughly slamming her back into the wall with just enough force to bruise. "And to think, I was actually afraid of what might happen to me if I walked through that door today."

She let out a scream, struggling against him but to no avail, her brown eyes wide with terror and just the slightest bit of revulsion. "You see? You are nothing more than a monster. A demon who walks among men like he is one himself. You do not deserve your soul."

"You're one to talk," he observed. "Now, I don't know where you stand on the payroll or who you report to when you call it a day, but I'm going to give you an opportunity to come clean and give your boss a message before I start inflicting some pain. In order to do that, I need to have some idea as to who I'm dealing with."

"Please. I know nothing of any boss. I am only a-"

"Right, and I'm just a guy who goes around targeting defenseless women for kicks. I admit I'm probably a little out of practice in that department, but I've always heard it's a lot like riding a bike. You never really forget it." He grinned, his fangs gleaming under the bright lights. "Guess there's only one way to find out."

"I swear it," she breathed, her heart thrumming viciously in her chest. She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes, awaiting the pain she believed him to administer, her lips timidly reciting what appeared to be a prayer of some kind. The words were barely discernible to Angel as he loosened his grip a fraction of an inch and continued to stare at her, his suspicions at war regarding her current affirmations of denial. "Your friend did not want to see, but what I spoke to him was the truth. The woman, she saw. Maybe too much. What cause would I have to fill their heads with such lies when I, too, have seen it myself? You must trust me, I mean you no harm."

"How do I open the portal?"

"I do not know," she reiterated. "But her dream, it connects her to this other world. This...new dimension. It has always been there, but remains a place of haunting desperation. There is only sadness and destruction. She has purpose there and she can make it right."

He released his grip on her and put some distance between them, shaking his head. "If the child-"

"A little girl," she repeated.

"D'Hoffyrn said this _little girl_ wished them there because she was experiencing loss."

"You must go and find council in your witch," Madame Florea urged him. "She may be the only one who can help you now." She carefully straightened out the dress she wore and held up a finger to him, disappearing behind the counter. Humming to herself, she retrieved a slender key from a compartment residing underneath the register, grabbing a small wooden box atop one of the shelves with a lock attached to the front of it. She quickly opened it to reveal the contents inside, withdrawing a single pendant. A familiar pendant, which she held almost cautiously in her grasp before reluctantly offering it to him. It hung on a gold colored chain and consisted of a large green colored jewel framed and partially consumed by the shape of a diamond.

Angel examined it briefly and ran the pad of his thumb over it, his worried gaze meeting hers. "This belonged to a vengeance demon. I recognize the craftsmanship."

"Yes, but not from this realm," she replied simply, "which means she may still be alive."

He turned it around in his fingers, causing the jewel to sparkle in all its allure. "How did you get it? Something like this isn't exactly easy to come by, especially for a fortune teller."

"You will search for her after passing through the portal," she countered, ignoring him. "Request that she assist you in reversing this wish. You must help your friends. It will not undo the peril and hardship that looms, or the loved ones others have lost. But perhaps you can give them a better future. Give _her_ a better future."

"Her?"

"The young girl."

"Yeah, except it doesn't work like that," he disputed. "Regardless of whether or not I have this, I'd have to find the demon it belongs to, and she might not even be the one who granted the wish. There's no guarantee that this'll run smoothly unless I know who it is and why."

"Perhaps it will come to you. But now you must leave. I have other matters to see to, and this is no place for a vampire." She closed the box and returned it to the spot upon the shelf. "Even for one possessing a soul."

Angel enclosed the pendant within the palm of his hand before depositing it into his coat pocket, glancing at her one last time before fleetingly mumbling an apology and exiting her place of employment, mindful to keep to the shadows until he'd reached the tunnels. He knew it would've been useless to press her for anything else at this stage- especially when it was becoming painfully clear that he was basically on his own until he decided to cave and spring for backup.

It thoroughly gnawed away at his subconscious that Madame Florea had failed to present Buffy with the pendant after her reading if she'd sensed that things weren't exactly as they seemed. It was possible some of the details had remained hazy as she'd envisioned them in her mind, but it would've been in the slayer's best interest to have all resources available to her if there was even the slightest chance her stay in the city could be compromised. It was better to be armed and ready than to be caught unaware and off guard. If the green demon who initiated the attack had managed to pass through a portal undetected to get here, then it was possible it wasn't nearly as complex as he was making it out to be.

Which meant there had to be another way that didn't involve the influence of a witch and the extensive use of powerful magic.

He'd also failed to factor in that vengeance demons weren't strictly confined to a designated area, and if the cry was loud enough, they'd entertain the notion of approaching a potential client from afar. He just didn't know how one would go about appealing to a broken little girl whose wish thus far had proved itself to be so crucial to the grand scheme. If this girl was of great value to the Senior Partners and whatever role they assumed in her world, the reason behind it was something he was going to have to speculate a bit further on. He just wasn't able to comprehend what made her so different from all of the other little girls. It wouldn't have been a matter of a special calling, because slayers were typically chosen much older. The rules had of course been altered on this plane when Buffy and her team had defeated The First and all potentials had become slayers, but he doubted the same situation would apply elsewhere- let alone another dimension.

It made it even more difficult to comprehend if the world was as hopeless as Madame Florea had implied. There would've been no slayer present to save it from imminent annihilation and it would therefore confirm this theory that they weren't as active a presence as they were here. Frowning, he yanked out his cell phone again and dialed in a series of digits that he'd previously viewed with contempt and resentment before he'd gotten on good terms with the Watcher they belonged to.

He wouldn't chicken out now. He couldn't. There was too much on the line for that. If the girls that had been put through rigorous training were battle ready and confident in their abilities, he suspected he wouldn't be the only entering through a portal to help salvage a world that was on the verge of crumbling as it grew weaker each passing day.

He supposed he would've been holding what breath he still didn't have when the phone started ringing. Removing the pendant again, he began to markedly study its composition while he awaited a response on the opposite end.

Spike was finding the inquisitive pair of blue eyes that studied him from across the room to be far more aggravating than unsettling.

He shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth from his seat above the small worn countertop, and his handsome face attempted to feign nonchalance, knowing perfectly well what it was that she was up to. When the petite body connected to those eyes moved in a bit closer and slid into a vacant chair, he only sighed and shook his head, watching as she promptly licked her lips when her interest shifted from him to the remainder of food left on his plate.

"Bloody hell." Damn her, she was growing on him. "S'pose you'd like a taste?"

She instantly nodded, the slivers of a smile twitching at either corner of her mouth.

"Right then." He dropped to the floor and carefully set his breakfast down, lifting her up into his arms and setting her on the same countertop he'd just jumped off of, her tiny feet dangling over the edge. Without waiting for permission, Noelle hungrily tore into the remaining contents like she was starving, consuming his last three pieces of bacon and a slice of toast slathered in butter.

"Better?" he asked.

She merely professed a single nod in response, and he wagered she'd summarily returned to avoiding the art of uneventful chit-chat again. All things considered, he hadn't really seen a need to push. After what had transpired last night, he would imagine she'd endured an additional helping of trauma when The Plague had cornered and invaded her former home for a second time, understandably discouraging her from speaking candidly about the experience. Of course, it wasn't like she'd gone and fatally injured a sodding leader like he had, so he really didn't see why she'd been engaging herself in another round of Mum's the word.

Unable to help himself, he tucked some light brown curls behind her ear and used his index finger and thumb to draw her chin up to him. "So, what's on the agenda for today, pet? Anything interesting?"

She shook her head this time, gratefully accepting the napkin he placed into the palm of her hand.

"No photo book? Noticed you weren't exactly carryin' it around with you anymore."

"Buffy says it's the past. She told me that memories never go away. I have to be a big girl now."

"Well, as much as you might value what Buffy's telling you, you're free to make your own choices. Way you handled yourself the other night, I'd say you've already graduated."

"Really?" she practically beamed.

"Got quite the appetite in you, too."

"Fred always gives me more eggs than bacon."

"Fancy that," he murmured, grinning.

"Well, someone's about to get fancy, at any rate." Buffy Summers proclaimed as entered the compact room, proudly holding up a razor in one hand and shaving cream in the other. "Ready for your close-up debut?"

He paled. "Close-up?"

She endearingly rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, a close-up. We've got some time to kill before Gunn takes us out into the field tonight, so I thought I'd clean you up a little. The stubble doesn't really go with the radioactive hair. Totally sexy, I'll grant you, but seriously mismatched."

He aimed a raised brow at her. "Think I'm sexy, do you?"

Noelle only giggled as she clamped a hand over her mouth, directing her attention to each of them in turn.

The slayer blushed a familiar shade of crimson as she quickly occupied herself with reading the can, unconsciously chewing on her bottom lip.

"Let's have at it then, love."

"Bathroom," she muttered. "I-I've got a bowl of water up there waiting. For you."

Tickled that she was once more finding herself tongue-tied in his presence, Spike gently deposited the bubbly bit onto the ground and gave her a playful push. "Best stay out of trouble and mind your manners, nibblet."

She only nodded before her little legs began to carry her up and away, rounding the corner at breakneck speed.

"You're really good with her."

He couldn't quite find himself able to look at her, putting his plate in the sink and allowing the silverware to follow. "Beg your pardon?"

"Noelle," Buffy emphasized. "She's not exactly at ease with some of the others, and I know she's not really sure how to feel about me, so if-"

"I'd suspect that's 'cuz you told her to stop being a bitty baby in haulin' around that album of hers. The girl's six years old, Slayer, and she's not sucking her bleeding thumb. She's tryin' to preserve what remains of her mum and dad who just happen to share a likeness with yours truly. Hardly cause for dismissal. Has to be a tad jarring yet, seeing the two of us in the flesh."

"Don't you ever get tired of being a voice of reason?"

"This mean I'm right?"

"I didn't say that," she insisted. "It's just...I know how I felt when my mom died, and I get that it's twice as difficult for her because she's younger than I was. But this world doesn't really lend itself to that whole embracing pity thing. It's cold and it's dark and she has to be ready for that if she's gonna survive. They won't stop coming for her."

"Thought about that, which is why I'm all the more anxious to get out there and trim the herd a bit."

"Well, it's time to trim something else now," she dutifully cut him off, entering the bathroom he'd occupied a couple hours earlier and laying her items on the toilet seat. "So you can just prop yourself up onto that sink over there and take your shirt off."

"Bossy, aren't we?" he taunted.

She shrugged, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. "If you're gonna keep jabbing, I can request the rest of it comes off, too. Not that I'd actually put up much of a fuss if it did."

"Jab?"

"Yes, jab." She watched with wide eyes as he discarded his hooded green sweatshirt, unable to hide her obvious approval as she saw him turn toward her and use the muscles in his arms to lift himself up over the sink, being mindful to avoid the mirror behind him.

He couldn't shake the apprehensiveness she was giving off in waves and gingerly curled his fingers around her wrist. "Please tell me you've done this before."

She forced a smirk. "Does weekly with legs count?"

"When they're yours. But no, under normal circumstances, it's not exactly the same as doing a bloke's face. Surely you must have picked up on that with Captain Cardboard."

She averted his curious gaze and abruptly moved to pick up the can of shaving cream, squeezing a decent amount of it out into the waiting palm of her hand, slowly rubbing the contents between them. The air became stagnant with silence and it was awhile before she spoke again. "Riley and I- we didn't...I mean..."

"A first then," he concluded. "Look, love, I didn't want to imply that-"

"It's all right, Spike."

"Doesn't feel all right," he contended, as she began the involved task of spreading the cool cream beneath his nose and onto his cheeks, rounding it off when she scooped and captured his chin.

"It is," she maintained. "That part of my life ended a long time ago. It's weird talking about it again. Mostly because it's you, and not...not even in a bad way. We have a chance to really make something out of this, and I don't want to let what I did or didn't do with someone I used to be with ruin that."

"A fair point."

"Great, so now the question becomes whether or not a slayer can master shaving a former vampire without blood gushing everywhere."

"Well, not everything you do is about violence," he remarked casually. "Go ahead and take your best shot."

"I don't need gloves or anything, do I?"

He laughed. "You're not performing surgery, Buffy. It's just a shave- and a close one at that. Have at it already and stop your yammering."

"I don't yammer."

"You yammer," he finished, "and on the rarest occasion seem to find yourself at the mercy of a run-on sentence."

"Maybe I should've asked Fred if I could've printed out a manual for this."

He sighed, holding out a hand. "That's it. Hand it over."

"Hand what over?"

"The razor. Do it myself if I have to, and sod all else. If it's any consolation, you'd make a lousy barber."

"I will not, and the correct term is hairdresser."

"Hairdressers cut and style hair," he explained, exasperated. "Barbers deal with hair _and_ shavin'. I've been around a lot longer than you have and you'd be wise to trust me on that."

"Shut your eyes."

He mustered what he presumed was a very nasty glare. "What the bloody hell for?"

"Spike."

"_Fine_," he advocated impatiently, before complying with her demand.

She responded with a sharp intake of breath before shakily starting on the right half of his face, angling the razor downward and keeping her strokes straightforward and smooth. She shook it free of its contents in the bowl at regular intervals, and her lips pursed themselves in further concentration as she meticulously aimed to rid the rest of his visage of the dark visible layer of stubble. Her movements continued to be firm, but merciful, and Spike found himself reveling in the pleasant sensation, never in all his years envisioning something so distinctly commonplace with her.

It was almost ridiculously married.

She advanced her ministrations to the left side of his face, progressively shifting her focus towards the middle to capture his upper lip and his chin. Every now and then she'd graze a fingertip over it and smile, and he just barely contained the persistent urge to interrupt her momentum and hoist her up onto his lap for a kiss. Or several.

The thing of it was, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to stop there.

"All done," she announced happily, snapping him out of his thoughts as she wiped the remains of the shaving cream off with a yellow towel, seemingly pleased with her handiwork. "Come have a look at the shiny, new you."

"I'm sure you did a fantastic job, pet, but now's not-"

Spike wasn't prepared for the meager mirror she put before him, his throat suddenly dry and somewhat constricted as he caught more than just that rough glimpse of the man staring back at him. For the first time in years, he had a reflection and his fingers couldn't stop trembling as they tightly grasped the handle. He was really there. In there. It was him.

Human.

He experimentally ran a hand the length of his cheek and wiggled a set of fingers, thrilled when the mirror showed them moving about in the same stupid way, delighting him beyond all measure. He would never forget that a man with his face had died so he could be brought here in this particular state, but bugger it if William's death hadn't somehow brought him closer to Buffy. If she hadn't gone through a portal, she might've been on a plane home, and he would've been bleeding kicking himself again for staying right where he was without having the courage he needed to go after her.

"Your hair's probably gonna need some work eventually, too, but we'll see if we can rectify that on another day if- are you okay?"

He tilted his head to the side. "Sleep with me tonight."

She appeared thoroughly shocked to say the least, her emerald eyes expanding as she forced herself to meet his blue ones. "Um, I'm sorry, what?"

"Bollocks," he cursed, his eyes focused heavenward. "In the same bed, but not like...that came out wrong, yeah? Was tryin' to go for subtle, too."

"Could've used some advice on your dismount," she suggested warmly.

"Right."

"But yes. I'll sleep with you. In a...way that's not that way because the other way is not something I'm-"

"Got it," he assured her, putting up a hand. "Thing is, there's a larger bed down in storage. Percy says it's ours if we can assemble it. Headboard and a proper mattress, too. Can't really fathom enduring another bloody backache on that cot."

"What about Noelle?"

"I'm not invitin' the bit into bed with us," he chastised as he hopped off the sink. Rinsing his face once more in cold water, he padded it down a second time. " 'Sides, she's got Mr. Fluffy now, and that's as good as any sodding teddy as far as I'm concerned."

"I just wanted to make sure we keep our stories straight if she starts to get ideas."

"Oh."

"Yeah, _oh_." She poked him lightly in the chest. "Unless by some means you were planning to do something wildly inappropriate with me and actually had something to be embarrassed about. Otherwise, it'd be pretty smart to keep it low key."

"No problem on this end."

"I like her, though. I do. Knowing what she is and what they want her for is another matter entirely. For one, it's definitely not of the good, and two, it'd be impossible to take her on patrol with us because she'd be a liability. They'll probably try and attack and catch us at our weakest, and the last thing we need is for her to get mixed up in all of it so they can grab her."

"As long as she stays here, she'll be fine."

"I agree," another British accent chimed in as Wesley approached them from the hallway. "I'd also kindly appreciate it if both of you would accompany me downstairs so we can discuss your placement for tonight. It'll be your first real exploration of the grounds and I don't want any surprises. Gunn will fill you in on most of it, but there are some rules we need to go over beforehand. I've set a rifle aside for each of you, and if you're unfamiliar as to how to fire one he'll be able to go over the specifics of that, too. Some of the others will be accompanying you. Technically, I represent Group A, but as I much prefer working alone, I-"

"You secure the perimeter," Buffy vouched. "Fred told us."

"Ah, she did. Well, that's...that's very clever of her to have done so." His demeanor softened considerably. "She's lovely, isn't she? Have you ever seen anything lovelier? So graceful and so...full of life. It's captivating. I dare say you feel like the only man in the room when she looks at you with those eyes."

"More than a little obvious the bird feels the same way," Spike offered plainly.

"Yes, well, that's a discussion for-" As if catching himself and returning himself to the less impressive confines of reality, Wesley could only make a sound low in his throat. "We must be on our guard around the clock now. Especially after what you've gone and done. I simply can't reiterate that enough. You may have stopped them from getting to the girl, but it doesn't mean they haven't any more tricks up their sleeves."

"Reiterate away," the blonde slayer confirmed.

"You mentioned in passing that this girl has the sight. If that's true, then I can't see placing her in foster care. They're determined to find her and take her at any cost and I suspect they'd follow me out of the city if I were to even try. We must adhere to extreme caution. If she has to leave the warehouse for any reason, someone who's armed will escort her."

"Can't see why she'd want to," Spike put in.

"She made a wish to have her parents returned to her," Wesley went on. "There is nothing more perilous. You may resemble them, but you're nowhere near a suitable replacement for what she's currently missing. She desires something she's unable to procure through traditional means, as it's outright scandalous to bring those we've lost back from the dead. She's used magic to meddle in something far beyond our comprehension. None of us have ever entertained the services of a vengeance demon before, and if what Tara has said has even a volume of truth to it, they typically pursue women who've been wronged by the men in their lives. A child's grief would have to be awfully strong to warrant the call."

"I'm on board with the no magic, bad results schtick, but I also think there's a fine line when speaking about the dead," Buffy said quietly.

"I did not presume to step-"

"And you didn't. Not really. But I died sacrificing my own life to save my sister, and my best friend brought me back. It's not to say it wasn't without ramification, but we muddled through. Sometimes you might think you're doing the right thing because you love whoever you lost so much and can't imagine a world without them in it. Noelle probably doesn't understand that her parents are happy and at peace where they are. It's possible she still thinks they're suffering."

"The longer you're here, the greater the connection she'll form with the two of you. You can't let her think you're trying to fill a void. She associates your presence with their deaths and she's bound to attempt to make something more out of it."

"There's nothing wrong with giving that to her," she argued. "We want to help her just as much as you do, but avoiding her and making ourselves scarce when she's around is just gonna make it worse. Spike's the first person she's talked to since you guys found her, and that's nothing to be ashamed of. She didn't have to say anything to him, but she did. She sees something in him that she doesn't see in the rest of us, and I won't go and give her a case of the extreme wiggins just because you believe we should operate under minimum safe distance. She's gonna need all of us to get through this."

"Touching speech, love."

"Shut up, Spike."

He gave her a hurried slap on her tush, smirking as she jumped. "Yeah, all right."

"I sincerely hope so," Wesley responded, oblivious to the gesture, "as she's got an awfully tough road ahead of her."


	13. Chapter 12: Work

A/N: Thank you silveralana, Spuffygirl, and Guest. :) Happy you're still enjoying the story!

Also, I've since made a slight edit (which I'll mention again in chapter 13 for those that read this chapter the day I posted it). It was brought to my attention elsewhere that I somehow implied Buffy was only now starting to believe Spike was in love with her. This is not the case. I've since revised her reaction to that passage where she contemplates the "D word." I see now that it was poorly worded. I never intended for it to sound that way, but apparently it did, so...fixed.

Chapter Twelve: Work

_"Out of clutter, find simplicity."_  
- Albert Einstein

"The general consensus would be to smash and destroy it," Willow Rosenberg supplied. "Or, well, it usually is. Then again, it's almost always on the vengeance demon it belongs to. If it wasn't, they'd probably try and do a spell to get it back."

"A spell," Angel repeated.

She nodded and moved to sit hesitantly beside him upon the sofa, her green eyes meticulously inspecting the pendant from Madame Florea's, neatly trailing a finger over the colorful stone. "The demon typically calls on Eryishon, the Endless One, which leads to the creation of a temporal fold. She then pours sacred sand on a representation of the pendant she's looking for, and Eryishon is supposed to bring it back from the place it went missing."

"So they pretty much know exactly where and when they lose them."

"Anya did," she pointed out. "Without it, she was just a miserable human who was stuck in high school. Of course, that was pre-Xander, and she was still pretty miffed that she couldn't return to wreaking havoc and granting wishes. She was basically unstoppable for over a thousand years when she worked for D'Hoffryn. On second thought, maybe miserable falls short."

"I appreciate you coming," he added, gratefully. "Even if-"

"It was by magic?"

Angel nodded. "I'm assuming you already know about Spike."

"Dawn can't get Andrew to shut up about it," she volunteered, smiling. "Before it was just the opposite. He's become quite the chatterbox. Not that he wasn't already, but how's Buffy taking it?"

He stood somewhat distractedly, occupying himself with the simple task of prying open the compact refrigerator in the room and pulling out a bag of blood, eyeing the contents rather sullenly. Dragging out a coffee mug from a drawer that resided on the left side of his desk, he began to slowly pour himself a generous helping of it. "Awfully good, considering. Which is weird, isn't it?"

"Weird?" she inquired, raising a brow.

"What did the spell entail?" he pressed, working to change the subject before his true feelings became all too apparent. It wasn't like he'd actually even been trying to hide them from her. It was more an issue of the increasing amount of distress it was causing him to be this incompetent.

"Uh, Angel?"

"The spell, Willow."

"Right. Um, I remember something about a child and a mother to the child. Oh, and a river to the sea. Anya called out Eryishon and asked her to hear her prayer so it would work. I could see things from the other dimension once it started to take effect."

"What kind of things?" he prompted.

"Anya was choking Giles, and Xander and I were...I was a-"

"Vampire."

She weakly nodded. "You don't think Buffy's been..."

"Doubtful," he declared, watching as the worry clouding her pretty face quickly subsided and she took a much needed breath to soothe herself. "But a little girl made that wish and I really have no idea of knowing what would happen if I undo it."

"The other Giles did it to Anya's pendant," Willow offered. "I saw that, too. It also brought vamp me who was not me into our world."

He took a sip of the blood, savoring the taste. "Can you get me there?"

"Our Giles didn't take it too well, did he? I wasn't even in the same country when he gave me the message. He said it was of the, and I quote, 'utmost urgency' that I get my butt back here so he could give me the skinny."

"He asked me how I could let her do it, but it's not like I actually had a choice. When the demon ambushed us, he went for her first."

"You said Spike jumped through, so-"

"Spike's impulsive and reckless," he countered, "and back in the day, it almost got him killed. Nothing's changed."

She merely shot him a look. "Are you sure about that?"

"The portal," he emphasized.

"I think I've brought all I'll need with me," she acknowledged, hopping to her feet as she reached for the metal container perched on top of his desk. She appeared to make a mental note in checking off the contents in her head, seemingly pleased with the tally for each item. "You'll have to show me the exact location, though- meaning the spot they were both standing when they went through. I'll need to know where you were, too. I can do it there, it's just..."

He immediately sensed the vague uncertainty plaguing her tone, and turned toward her as he frowned. "Did you forget something?"

"No," the witch hastily answered. "N-nothing like that. It's...I mean-"

"Willow?"

"What are you planning to do once you get there?"

It hit him like a ton of bricks, but it was an honest enough inquiry and he clearly couldn't fault her for making it. He really _hadn't_ thought out his rescue operation step by agonizing step, let alone the possibility of actually discovering a point of access to the other world.

_"It is because of this visit in question that your motives have nothing to do with love, and everything to do with jealousy. You harbor this jealousy. It grows stronger the longer she is away. Tell me. Who is it you really desire to help?"_

While it was true he wanted to bring Buffy back safe and unharmed, the essential elephant in the room was looming larger than ever now, superseding the need to do right in favor of being obligated on account of besting his former rival. He began to wonder if that was all it ever really was. That the only motivation behind getting to Buffy was still to prevent Spike from getting to her first.

He very nearly contemplated sending someone else in his place, as he was beginning to think he was starting to lose sight of the initial objective again. But it was becoming even more difficult to remain on that path when the one woman that had been so much more to him once upon a time, had done nothing but seek comfort in a former monster who was once widely known as William the Bloody.

"Are you okay?"

He snapped his attention back to the woman in front of him, meeting Willow's decidedly troubled gaze. "I'm good," he managed weakly.

"We don't have to do this right this very minute, you know. Maybe if I could get a reading on where they are first, we could see what they've gotten themselves into. If she were dead, you'd probably feel it. That's, uh, not to say she is, and I'm sure everything's fine, but you guys always had a kind of connection, didn't you? Each time you were in trouble and something bad happened, you'd go to each other. Talk it out."

"It's called a phone," Angel muttered. "Not to mention having mutual friends who use one. Whatever was between us hasn't been there in..." He laughed then, shaking his head. "I've probably confided more in Cordelia than I have in Buffy in all the years I've known her. Then Spike's back, and he comes _here_ to L.A. of all places, and there it is again. I think I know it's not what I want anymore, but it's still there."

"Spike saved the world with an amulet," she volunteered, shrugging. "He also more or less teamed up with Buffy when you became all grrr and threatened to take over the world cartoon villain style."

"Does saving it from an evil law firm and a dragon count?"

"You'll have to ask Buffy, but I'm not sure she's had any sleepless nights over it."

"Really."

"Look, Halfrek once posed as a guidance counselor to get Dawn to make a wish- though given how it all turned out, I'm not entirely sure if it's worth anything. For starters, we weren't transported to another dimension as a result of it. We just couldn't leave the house."

"Couldn't leave the house," he repeated, a little perplexed yet thankful that she'd once more allowed their discussion to veer a little off course.

"Anya was able to get her to reverse it without ruining her pendant if you still wanted to try for something that doesn't involve violence or fighting of any kind, but Halfrek was only forced into the reversal because she couldn't leave the house once she got there. She was a victim of her own stupid curse. It wasn't like she actually wanted to do it, and thought we deserved what we got. Tara ended up being a really big help, and she..."

Angel noticed the way her voice dropped, faint as it was, and took a single step in her direction, his visage genuinely apologetic. "I heard about-"

"I'm okay," she assured him, forcing a quick smile. "Really. This is me making with the okay here. But sometimes I- well, I guess I just miss her. It's not as bad as it used to be, and I've gotten myself back on track since then. I guess it all kind of creeps up again without warning to remind you."

"Buffy said that-"

"Kennedy, right?" she cut him off.

"Yeah."

"Kennedy and I aren't really...'Kennedy and I' anymore," Willow aptly confessed. "It's sort of why I jumped at taking a breather and came here. I figured I could be of some help as opposed to sitting in the dark being all mopey and everything. It's not healthy."

"Oh."

"Anyway, what I'm trying to say here is that Dawn's wish still had everybody doing the remembering thing after it was over."

"It did."

"Yep, and Buffy even found out Dawn was a klepto."

"That won't really help us here," Angel admitted awkwardly.

"No," she mused. "But it might be worth it to try and get the demon to perform a reversal."

"A visitor has trespassed on the grounds," Illyria announced, making her entrance somewhat abruptly. "Mortal."

"I know," he professed, rolling his eyes. "This is- she's the witch we talked about earlier. Willow, Illyria. Illyria, Willow."

"Not her. Another."

"Where?"

"Above us. Only one, but there could be more."

"All right, just let me-"

"You're a hard guy to track down," a familiar voice hurriedly proclaimed from behind the Old One, the voice male and the stature reasonably compact. His wardrobe effortlessly fell a few decades short, consisting of a brown hat, a worn leather coat and a shirt that was a complete and utter eye sore and more akin to a disco club from a forgotten era. "But the crowd you hang with these days is a little rusty, considering the mortal part couldn't be more off the mark if you tried."

"Do you...know him?" the redhead murmured curiously, confused.

"I used to." He glanced at Willow and the man who'd nonchalantly taken it upon himself to enter the makeshift headquarters without an invitation, his hands tucked into his pockets as he began to pace and inspect the establishment, his nose crinkling as he sniffed the air.

"Still surrounded by the stench of death, only I'm not so bothered by yours this time. At least you've long since taken care of the smelly homeless part."

"His name's Whistler. For now, at least. He's a demon, a...higher being. He's supposed to maintain the balance between good and evil."

"I found this guy when he was at his lowest," Whistler explained. "Taught him some things before I let him have a peek at what he was capable of. I warned him of a young slayer facing hardship and gave him the option of turning his life around when he was still rat bound and biding his time in the sewers. Wasn't enough to save him from his curse because he made the mistake of falling in love with her. Memory lane says we know how it played out with Acathla, right? But as usual, I'm getting way ahead of myself here, so why don't we take it from the top?"

"Do you wish me to hurt him?" Illyria spoke up, noticeably undecided about their new guest.

"Looks like Blue hit the nail on the head."

"Nail?" she echoed.

"It's an idiom," Angel affirmed. "It means to be right about something."

"And this..._idiom_ is considered a proper form of speech for humans?"

"It's a saying," he clarified impatiently. "You don't actually hit a nail."

"A wish is why I'm here," Whistler continued, unable to suppress a smirk. "That little girl has the power to do some real good. If at all possible, we'd like her on our side."

"Choose a side, Slayer." Spike arranged the two metal rails on the floor and stepped back to survey the perimeter of the room, calculating the approximate measurements in his head as he advanced to the headboard, drawing it in closer to the wall and positioning it at a slant.

"A side?" came her baffled reply as she could only stare at him, setting clean sheets and pillowcases on the empty chair next to her.

"Left or right," he explicated, raising a scarred brow and tilting his head as he regarded her with some amusement. "Hope it's not too hard a decision for you to spin about in your cranium."

"I'll take the left," she specified plainly.

He only sighed, walking over to take her hands in his and proceeding to bring them to his chest. "You can't let what that wanker said get to you, love. If anything, he's just been frustrated 'cuz everyone hates his sodding methods so much. Has a habit of speaking his mind and all that rot. It shouldn't deter you from doing what you feel is right."

She assumed an expression of utter seriousness as she leaned up and brought her face closer to his, her green eyes trained on his blue ones. "You know, that was actually shockingly profound. Maybe you'd like to take a shot at boosting morale at the next clubhouse meeting downstairs tonight."

"Bugger it," he quipped, gritting his teeth, "and here I thought I was doing you a favor by boosting _your_ morale. Bloke's tryin' his best, you know? Come to think of it..." Reaching into his pocket, he recovered the pink nameplate he'd been carrying with him ever since he'd located it strewn amongst the rubble at Noelle's former residence, his thumb running itself over the engraving again. Holding it up between two index fingers, he carefully showed it to her.

"Is that-"

"It is. Nibblet probably doesn't even know I took it. Wanted to surprise her, attach it to her room here. Make her feel a bit more at home in light of the recent chaos."

"Did we or did we not just get through talking about what a stickler for normalcy Wes is around here? He sees that and he's gonna flip. He'll tell us it reminds her of her parents and that we're causing her additional trauma by leaving it up. Blah, blah, blah."

"Buffy-"

"But just so we're clear, I'm on your side. After what I told him, I better be. Besides, I meant every word of it."

"We'll put it up after we're done in here then," he sanctioned, pocketing it.

"Sounds good."

"Right, so have you got the cross rails?"

"The who?" she tried, squinting her eyes.

"The three rails we'll be connecting to the side rails."

"That's way too many rails."

"Bloody hell, woman. Just...hand me the box with the bolts and screws in it. Glide brackets should be in there, too."

"Now that I can totally do." Buffy walked over to the doorway and picked up the flimsy cardboard, successfully edging it into his waiting grasp. She was pleased to find that she thoroughly enjoyed watching him go about each of the tasks with a renewed kind of vigor, his lips occasionally pursing in concentration as he applied himself to every instruction he'd mentally scrawled on an imaginary piece of paper inside his head, working diligently while he moved from one to the next. Halfway through, he'd shed the shirt he was wearing, leaving him in jeans and boots, the curls in his blonde hair falling loose and onto his forehead. She thought of the men who did construction for a living and braved it through the harsh temperatures when the heat was at its peak, the picture too good to pass up as she began to envision him in one of those oddly appealing scenarios, the details already transpiring into a rather fascinating daydream.

It was senseless, ill-timed and silly, but she discovered she wasn't exactly above readily giving into any of those things.

"Bring the headboard over."

She jumped, just barely avoiding the blush that threatened to spill across her cheeks as she struggled to focus on him without permitting the images to re-enter and corrupt her mind. She'd seen his mouth move and had heard words come out of it, but for some reason she still found herself miles away from getting her nerves under control. Her hands were literally shaking. Angry at herself for allowing her better intentions to wander, Buffy promptly folded them behind her back and out of sight, lightly clearing her throat. "I'm sorry, what?"

He shifted upright, regarding her with a fair amount of suspicion, his blue eyes seeming almost amused by the prospect. "Is something wrong, pet?"

She smiled innocently, professing a chuckle. "Why would anything be wrong?"

"You do know what a headboard is, don't you?"

"Yeah. Of course." Grabbing the object he'd set up against the wall, she lifted it with ease and placed it in front of him, discernibly proud of herself for not managing to mess up such an overly simplistic request.

He put it in line with the frame and attempted to connect the two of them. "Listen, if you're still not sure about this, we don't have to do it."

"_It_?" she squeaked.

"Sleep. _Together_," he informed her, rolling his eyes. "I'd be more than happy to let you have the bed while I take the floor. No skin off my nose, and far be it for me to deny a lady the right to something of the exceedingly comforting variety."

"Not necessary. I mean you make it sound like we've never even slept together before."

"Well, considering that we usually always missed the bleeding bed back then, I've gotta be smart about this and try not to say anything I might sodding regret."

"We were good the night before I confronted Caleb and took back what was mine," she reminded him. "After that, too."

"I-"

"We don't have to discuss it now. I know we're on a tight schedule here and we'll be out there patrolling soon, but don't you think we need to say a little more in that…area?"

"And a little more usually leads to those regrets, doesn't it?" Appearing to be satisfied with the bare frame attached to the equally bare headboard, he stood back to inspect the latest addition to the room, lovingly running a hand over the metal bars.

"Is this something you've had a lot of experience with?"

He slyly raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Wouldn't say a lot, but I personally saw to the assembly of the one I used to have in my crypt. Would've had to bring it back down there in pieces to get it through, eh?"

Now she did blush, the color wildly staining her cheeks. "Wow, I walked right into that one, huh?"

"Walked right into what, exactly?"

"This. You. All of it. One thing after another. Or, in this case, one thing leading to another."

"Too much for you?" he accused, the tone impossibly suggestive.

"Hey, all assembly aside, I think what you're doing for Noelle is-"

"For Noelle? Hardly. At least not this. This is for us. The us you wanted there to be." He retrieved the mattress lying on the ground and dropped it onto the frame with an audible thud. "Really don't believe we were talking about the bit just now, and I'd appreciate it if you'd kindly stay on topic, love."

"Sorry," she mumbled foolishly, already finding herself too caught up in him to care. "So, more talking. Okay. I can do that."

"Who's the new hottie?"

Both of them simultaneously turned their heads to the doorway where a young woman of average height with shoulder-length blonde hair had poked her head in, her attire consisting of a navy tank top and a snug pair of jeans. Her smile was infectious, if not a bit seductive.

"_Hottie_?" Buffy reiterated, too late to mask the implication of envy in her voice.

"I'm Darla," she mentioned by way of introduction. "I'm usually in Group A, but just put in somewhat of a double shift for Wesley, which therefore makes it impossible to say we've already met." Although she shook each of their hands in turn, her main focus still seemed to be on Spike and only Spike. "I'm told it's your first real night out on the town. I would've offered to give you the grand tour, but I guess I'm a little too late for that."

"What a pity," the slayer drawled, crossing her arms over her chest as she maintained a defensive stance.

"Isn't it, though?" she commented. "Look, some of us are comparing battle strategies down there right now, and if you wanted to join us, there'd be no complaints and you'd be more than welcome."

"Him or me?"

"Both of you," she insisted. "You should think about it."

"Right then, we'll do that," Spike confirmed, inclining his head in her direction with a single nod.

"Happy to hear it." Darla grinned somewhat mischievously before heading off in the vicinity of the stairwell, her hips swaying a tad too provocatively to culminate in an exit that couldn't be misinterpreted if it tried.

"Okay, disturbing much?"

He smirked. "Not nearly as disturbing as that enticing little display you just put on for my benefit. If it's any consolation, Slayer, message received and then some. Could see your jealousy coming from way out yonder. Never drift too far off course, do you?"

"In our world, she hits on Angel and turns him. In this one, she hits on you after you've been given the ability to breathe again. Oh, and did I mention she once tried to kill me? Add it up and it all spells duh."

"Well, I don't know about your 'duh,' but I bet there are a couple of other sounds I could get you to make if I got you alone just now."

Her throat suddenly went painfully dry. "Tell me she doesn't give you the wig."

"Buffy, you don't need to worry about-"

"Do I look worried?"

He leaned down and placed a quick nip on her neck using his blunt teeth, sensing the involuntary shiver that coursed through her. "Let's go and mount that nameplate now, shall we?"

"It's safe to say she'll be mounting _something_ before the day is out."

"Let it go," he advised.

"Yeah, yeah. If she knows what's good for her, she'll maintain her distance from my guy and stay out of my way."

"Your guy, eh?"

"That, uh...that really came across as being too overly possessive, didn't it? If it's any-"

"No, and if you say you didn't mean it, I've half a mind to remind you in the most glorious way possible that you did."

"Which would be what?" she asked meekly.

"Not what. _How_," he corrected, moving to nibble on her ear.

"Spike..."

"No sense in lettin' your hormones get the best of you now, is there? Only girl that'll ever mean anything to me like that is you. Remember that next time, will you?"

"I guess I could certainly try," she told him, only half joking.

"Then at least allow me to take you on a date."

Buffy's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. The only other time they'd ever really spoken of the D word was when he'd been selfishly motivated in trying to convince her to go stake a few vamps holed up in a warehouse in downtown Sunnydale with him- a cheap ploy to spend time with her because he claimed to be in love with her. The vamps hadn't been part of the recent deaths, and low and behold, the evildoer had been a very determined Drusilla who wanted nothing more than to take Spike back into the fold with her. It was different now, she knew. It had started being different ever since he'd risked death at the hands of Glory to protect Dawn. He really was in love with her and his feelings had remained genuine. They'd been through some rough patches since then and this was still new territory for her. She couldn't deny that she was about to lapse straight into panic mode. "Allow who to what with where?"

"Guess there's only one way to do this, yeah?" Shaking his head, he knelt before her and gingerly clasped her left hand in his, weaving his fingers through hers as his cerulean eyes studied her rather attentively. Taking a breath, he held it for awhile before calmly releasing it, inept to resist bestowing her with a half-smile. He sensed the way she immediately froze on the spot and that gorgeous laugh of his tumbled out, teasing yet not without purpose. "Buffy Summers, would you do me the great honor of accompanying me on a date?"

Overwhelmed by the proposal, her insides turned to jelly and her heart beat faster in her chest, a thin haze taking over and consuming her entire thought process, leaving her more exposed than she wanted to be. Leaving herself completely open. To him. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"

"A date. With me."

"With you."

"Yeah," he verified. "With me. Restaurant's the lady's choice. 'Sides, now that I can eat just about anything, it should prove to be more fun than askin' our waitress for a blooming pint of blood."

"Well, if you were still a vampire, we could've always dined in at the butcher shop," she jested blithely. "You were already a regular, so that would've gotten us a seat right away. It might've even been on the house."

"Do you miss it?"

"Miss..."

"The whole creature of the night, blood drinkin' monster routine?"

"Sometimes. I mean, there's something to be said for having a pair of fangs and a protruding forehead. For one, it helps to scare muggers away."

"Bollocks."

"But when it comes down to it, I don't _not_ miss not hearing your heart beat."

He grinned. "Was that a triple negative, pet?"

"Okay, okay. Look, yes. The answer is yes. I'll go on a date with you and do this 'right and proper' as you always put it. I'll sit inside some fancy restaurant and drink fancy wine out of a fancy glass. The wardrobe could be a bit of a problem if I can't get back to our world to find a dress, though."

"Low cut, preferably black."

"Is that all?" she responded with a touch of sarcasm.

"Easier to take off when we get to the after party," Spike asserted, as he picked himself up into a standing position.

"After party?" she reciprocated, her eyes nearly crossing.

"Don't think we're ready for it just yet, but it's a thought."

"Thoughts are good things to have."

The sound of shoes rapidly traveling down the long hallway and into their room had them once again angling their heads toward the person causing it, a very worried Tara Maclay emerging from around the corner. She fought to catch her breath, placing a hand upon the doorframe to steady herself, her eyes large and not without fear in them. "I h-hate to interrupt, but they just entered the premises. Wesley wanted me to-"

"They're attacking in broad daylight?" the peroxide blonde demanded.

"Yes. The energy barrier should hold, but I don't know for how long."

"How many?"

"At least eight. Fred counted three around back, and the rest have surrounded the front of the warehouse."

"And the little one?"

"She's with Jonathan and Gunn. She keeps asking for you. I t-told her you'd be-"

He didn't wait for her to finish. Grabbing the hooded sweatshirt and throwing it clumsily over his head, he set off running in the direction she'd only recently come from, knowing without glancing behind him that Buffy wasn't far behind. He still couldn't sodding explain it himself, really. But he'd automatically felt an aching need to suddenly go to her. He wasn't her dad and he wouldn't ever be, but there was still such a strong desire to protect her. It was the same desire he'd often felt with Buffy when all he'd wanted to do was make sure the nasties didn't get to her. But Buffy wasn't the bit's mother, either.

He picked up on Noelle's scent, entering a room sparsely furnished with girly things, the small lump under the bed risking a peek behind the shelter she'd claimed beneath the comforter, her blue eyes meeting his. "You came again," she whispered.

"Where have Charlie Boy and Jonathan run off to? Tara said they'd-"

"Helping Wesley," she said, still whispering. "Will I die, Spike?"

"Come here, lamb." Striding to the bed, he pulled back the comforter and pulled her into his arms, cradling her head with one hand, while the other settled smoothly upon the small of her back, rubbing it every so often to try and soothe her, legs coiling around him. Her tiny hands brought themselves to either side of his neck and she clung to him much the same way she had after he'd found her at the apartment building she'd fled to, her heart thudding against her chest. Just like Buffy's, he reasoned, only this wasn't a case of mother being like daughter.

"Gunn told me to be quiet. He said they can't find you in here if you're quiet."

"They'd smell a tasty morsel like you straight off, so I'm sure he was just being polite."

"Why would he do that?"

" 'Cuz he's tryin' to keep you from gettin' gobbled up by the beasties. But that's not why they want you. I'd wager they don't exactly feel a need to eat you as much as they'd like to take you with 'em and be on their merry way."

"Will you leave, too?"

"Look at me, would you?"

She released the death-like vice she had on his neck and met his gaze, her bottom lip trembling. He adjusted his hold on her and delicately went about removing the curls that had fallen into her face. Curls that were still so much like his own. He grabbed a hold of her nose and gave it a brief tug, his thumb shifting to fondly graze her cheek. "Okay, I'm looking," she breathed, unable to hold back a sniffle.

"Not gonna leave you. Won't ever."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, I promise."

"How's she doing?" Buffy asked, coming up to stand beside him as she watched a frightened Noelle cower away and bury her face in Spike's sweatshirt. In spite of her actions, the girl circumspectly extended a miniscule hand and allowed the slayer to take it in hers. A sliver of growth.

"They left her all by her lonesome in here while they went to get weapons. _She's_ the reason The Plague's unleashing another act of violence on us, and they left her completely unguarded. Percy raved about keepin' an eye on her and now he's nowhere in sight once we're under bloody attack."

"We need you on this."

"Buffy-"

"I get it, I do. But Tara says they-"

"They'll try and see if they can get us to come out and play. Can't get in, so they'll provoke us and try gettin' us to join 'em. It's basic strategy, love."

"So what are we gonna we do? They want both of us up on the second floor again. We can use the rifles to take them out from above with the silver."

"Best try not to get ourselves killed."

"Our current occupations would suggest otherwise," she quipped.

"Right you are." He paused for only a moment before turning to the child he continued to hold. "You up for a bit of a field trip, nibblet?"


	14. Chapter 13: Judgment

A/N: As stated in the note included with the previous part, I revised the passage in chapter 12 where Buffy contemplates a date with Spike and a bit of their history. It seems some of what I initially had there was misunderstood, so I've since corrected it. To those of you who already saw this message posted for the last chapter, feel free to ignore it. :)

Chapter Thirteen: Judgment

_"Enthusiasm for a cause sometimes warps judgment."_  
- William Howard Taft

"I'm afraid there won't be a need for a field trip of any kind," a voice informed them from the doorway as Wesley Wyndam-Pryce entered the room somewhat guardedly, his gaze focusing on them for a moment before flickering to the bed Noelle had left in utter disarray.

"Care to explain why not?" Spike queried.

"They were never here," he replied simply.

"Glinda just informed us we were practically being invaded and needed to batten down the hatches. Tryin' to tell me she just made the lot of it up?"

"That's not what I'm saying at all. The fact of the matter is, what you just witnessed here today was only a drill. We tend to do one every couple of weeks to make sure we remain on our toes and fully alert of the ramifications should we actually encounter a legitimate problem. While it's reasonable to assume you passed with flying colors, you-"

"Is that right?" Spike echoed, his tone anything but pleased as he placed Noelle onto the floor, the little girl giving a moan of protest as she was ripped away from his warmth. "In that case, I s'pose it's also perfectly _reasonable_ to assume you were being a real git by not telling us how exactly in the sodding hell you operate around here. Had the bit scared half to death."

"While I understand your frustration, I sincerely never-"

"Do you?" he cut him off again, the anger in him rising despite being absent of his demonic half.

"I do," the other man stated firmly, "and as you've been here less than twenty-four hours, it was imperative to see that we could count on you if the situation turned dire. Prior to your arrival yesterday, our next exercise was scheduled for the following week. We've merely made a few minor alterations to confirm your standing with us. Surely you can see that desperate times are often the result of desperate measures."

"You left her here alone," Buffy murmured. "How is that okay? If there'd been an actual attack, there would've been nobody with her watching her."

"Your mothering instinct kickin' in a tad there, Slayer?"

She just rolled her eyes.

"We clocked Mr. Spike," Wesley continued, "and it took him but minutes to arrive to reassure her of her safety. That's extremely good, considering. I apologize in advance for the disruption it caused Noelle, but it's what must be done in order to prepare her. She is, after all, what they've been setting their sights on all this time. Some of us waited nearby inside the warehouse as others staged a false battle scenario directly outside the compound. It's all part of our strategy."

"The only thing this strategy will do for her is make her run away again," Spike supplied. "Not to mention the whole bleeding diatribe you fed us on keepin' our precious distance."

"I admit I spoke out of turn there."

He raised a scarred brow. "Did you now?"

Wesley put up both hands in front of him, nodding. "Charles and the others are settling in for a nap before they head out tonight, but perhaps I can take and show you more of the city myself. At least before your shift. I won't deny that it's overwhelming your first time out, though it certainly makes it easier to navigate when dusk closes in on us if you're already used to it. If you should decide you prefer to be in Group A, that can be arranged as well. Group A is also less involved in terms of fighting."

"Yeah, because I can't imagine there'd be much to see even in the daytime," Buffy volunteered, shrugging. "The houses and buildings are either in shambles or deserted, and you're not exactly bringing in the much needed tourist dollars there, Wes."

"I presume that's a no then?"

"I think we'll just look around here awhile."

"By all means. If there's anything I can do, just let me-"

"Yeah, yeah, we got it. You don't have to make big with the guilt anymore."

"I really am very sorry," he added, nodding nervously again before departing and exiting through the long hallway.

"Impressions?" the slayer asked, her green eyes narrowing as she planted her hands on her hips.

"You mean aside from how I'd bet some quid he hasn't gotten laid since Los Angeles crumbled to itty bitty pieces?" Spike deadpanned. "Haven't got any."

"I wasn't referring to his sex life, or lack thereof," she averred, shooting him a slightly perturbed glare.

"Got more action on our side," he remarked. "Anyhow, I don't see that it's any business of ours as to how paranoid the poor bloke is. They're obviously scared of something, and I'd wager it's more than just our resident pack of beasties."

"It's not that, it's..." She bit her bottom lip contemplatively. "I don't know. It's like now that they're aware of who she is and what she can do, they'd rather hand her over to them so they don't have to put up with the hassle of babysitting her and risking their own necks to do it."

"That's quite a theory, love. Can't see Glinda or the bookworm complyin' with it myself- let alone Jonathan."

"We're not even sure what Group A actually does. If this was just some mock test thingy today, who's to say these Plague guys even show their faces during the day? We don't have any proof that they do."

"True," he mused carefully, the tiny hands wrapped around his leg reminding him that the girl was still occupying the same space as them, her noggin probably getting a real earful.

"True?" she repeated, frowning. "That's it? You don't have any kind of-"

"Buffy." Shifting slightly, and so as not to disturb the child, he cupped her face in his hands and grazed his thumbs over her cheeks. "Think I've got you good and pegged by now to know Percy's way of running this place is the least of your problems. It's not him, is it? It's the way she makes you feel, 'cuz over here you were a mum and a wife and you were apparently bloody good at it."

"I'm not Anne," she disputed.

"You're not," Spike agreed. "But from what we've heard about her from the nibblet here, she had that same drive you do. The same pressing need to do what's right. A warrior. You were what she would've become with fightin' demons and such and constantly tryin' to save the world. Lot like now, actually."

"I have help now."

"You've never thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Havin' a handful of little bits take over the house after you pop 'em out."

"Do you remember how many times I've died?" she countered, smiling. "I'd be entirely unreliable."

He dropped his hands suddenly, his blue eyes pained as they visibly aligned themselves with the tiles scattered along the length of the bare floor. Even though she was right in front of him, living and breathing, he would always remember. The tears he'd shed when she'd sacrificed herself to save Dawn, and the way in which he'd chosen to carry out his promise to look after the girl following her death. He'd also kept track of the exact number of days it had been before Willow had gone and brought her back. For awhile, she'd even convinced herself she'd come back wrong when his chip hadn't misfired after he'd gotten a shot in. Although, given the soulless demon he still was at that point, he hadn't been sufficient help in that department, either. He wasn't in Sunnydale when she'd been bitten by the Master, but at that particular juncture in his life, Spike had very much been set on relishing the kill. "Not likely to forget one of 'em."

She winced, hooking her hands through the belt loops of her jeans. "I'm sorry, that wasn't meant to-"

"Just don't see what it has to do with a couple of pint size Buffy's. Everything's in workin' order internally and nothing's broken, so I can't see it being a problem."

"It's not that it's...it's hard to…I-I mean with you."

He tilted his head, regarding her fairly suspiciously. "So it's me, is it?"

"It's not," she quickly finished. "Not in the sense of it being you-you. But I guess I just hadn't really considered that kids would be part of the plan if we...you know."

"You're talking about me changin' into a vampire again."

"You said it yourself. There's a strong possibility it'll happen when we get back, and vampires aren't exactly known for their parenting skills. We'd have to adopt, and by their twentieth birthday I'd start to look my age and you'd look closer to theirs. The neighbors would wonder why their dad never ages and why mom looks like she's nursing home bound."

"Once told my mum I was keen on a family before I was turned."

"I somehow have difficulty picturing that," she admitted, smiling.

"Knew she was in the mind of gettin' used to the idea of grandchildren, and I was still hung up on a girl who wasn't exactly set on procreating with a man who wrote sodding love poems about her."

"She didn't like them," she acknowledged. "Cecily, right?"

"Yeah, but none of it's important," Spike confirmed, waving a hand about in dismissal. "Just got caught up in thinkin' about it is all."

"It's Noelle," she said quietly.

"What's me?" the owner of the name in question inquired curiously, squeezing Spike's leg tighter.

Releasing her as politely as he could, he withdrew the nameplate and handed it to her, not intending to be nearly so forward about it- a small, sentimental part of him lamenting over how he'd intended for the big reveal to be some sort of grand surprise. However, he reckoned it would keep her busy for a spell before her interests eventually drifted to something else. As young as she was, he knew nothing would hold her blooming attention for too long.

"This is mine," she whispered, her blue eyes lighting up. _His_ blue eyes, but shaped very much like Buffy's.

"It is. Took it when I found you at your mum and dad's old place. Thought we could put it up on your door. How's that sound?"

"Can I keep it?"

"That's the general idea, pet."

"I'll put it under my pillow," she declared, already sprinting for her unmade bed again. "That way I can see them when I sleep."

"Yeah, all right. Whatever makes you happy, eh?"

"Thank you, Spike."

Incredibly taken by the gesture, he crouched down to her level and dropped to his knees, ruffling her hair and patting her atop the head. "Welcome, pigeon. Listen, if you ever do decide to let everyone know this room is yours, I'll put it right where you had it before. Have it all pretty just for you."

"Do you think he was with her the whole time?" Buffy wondered then, eyeing up Noelle as she stuffed the plate beneath her pillow and fluffed it, hitting it with her tiny hands.

"Not sure what you-"

"When she was pregnant. When her belly got so big and she'd carried her for nine months. Do you think he still found her beautiful?"

He waddled over to her, still on his knees. Coming to a nice and even halt in front of her, he allowed his nimble fingers to lift up her shirt, placing the most gentlest of kisses upon her bare stomach. She laughed as the feather light nips increased, ruffling his hair the same way she'd seen him do to Noelle, her giggles only prompting him to rain more over her taut skin before looking up at her and smirking. "Any man who doesn't appreciate life growing inside the woman they love is a gormless wanker. But unless there's something else you'd like to tell me, I'll assume this is just more shop talk related to the trials and tribulations of the job itself."

"So not pregnant here," she interrupted defensively.

"Well, I don't know a whole lot about what's involved with the process myself, but I've heard there's plenty you can do sexually to accommodate the lady in that particular state. In point of fact-"

She smacked him lightly in the chest as she turned crimson, the slap almost causing him to tumble backward.

"Bugger it," he muttered, catching himself just in the nick. "You sure have a habit of knockin' a fella down, Slayer."

"Kid. Bad. Language," she sputtered.

"Playing word association, are we? All right, let's take a crack at it."

"Spike, I'm serious."

"So am I," he sided. "Buffy. Blonde. Confused."

"You can't openly talk about pleasing a pregnant women with a child right there. It's wrong."

"Not so wrong." Cocking his head, he sat back on his haunches and set his hands upon the legs of his jeans. "You do know sex is how babies are made, right?"

"You're just-"

"We still playing that game?"

"No, and you-"

"The birdie brings the babies and the mommy and daddy get to pick," Noelle announced happily before grabbing a hold of Mr. Fluffy and bounding out of the room. "More people are coming."

"Guess the trauma of the day wasn't too much for her after all," Spike finished thoughtfully. "Bounced back straightaway."

"More people?"

He shrugged. "Probably more who returned from one of the groups Percy's so bloody fond of. Nothing to worry about."

"Do y'all know a Dawn?" Fred beckoned from below as she could be heard climbing the steps to their level.

"Dawn..." Buffy reciprocated quietly, something in her immediately stirring.

The brunette approached them with another one of her insanely infectious smiles, her hair loosely pulled back as she adjusted the glasses over her nose. "She's telling everybody she knows you and that you're her sister. One of our own found her out wandering a little while ago and brought her in. She keeps saying she's been trying to find you."

"She's here? Now?"

"Downstairs," she clarified, gesturing rather briefly. "I asked Jonathan to get her a glass of water to calm her down a little. She looked a little parched."

"Can I..."

"Oh, sure, I'll take you myself." She motioned for them to follow her as they descended the steps and rounded the bend into the lobby of the warehouse where a girl with long brown hair sat clutching an old coffee mug, taking a short sip before returning it to her lap. Her eyes were glued to her feet. Noelle was hiding herself from view behind Jonathan, clinging to Mr. Fluffy as a lifeline while she chanced a glance every so often at their new guest, her miniscule feet hesitantly taking a step forward before she instantly retreated again.

"Dawnie?"

"Buffy." The teenager placed the mug at her feet and practically flew into her sister's arms, gathering her up in a much needed hug and squeezing her so tightly it was as if she thought she might vanish at any second.

"Dare I ask how you even got there?"

The younger Summers' glanced at Spike before she pulled back to look at her sister again. "Willow. It was supposed to be Andrew and a few of the potentials, too, but I guess something must've happened with the spell or something. I was the only one who came through."

"Angel?"

"He called Willow to come help. She teleported us from Italy with the other slayers. They were somewhere else, though, so it took her awhile to pull it off. But it was all really safe. Angel told me Whistler came to see him and he said you'd know who that is."

"He didn't want to-"

"He did," Dawn offered. "But we kind of thought it would be better if we went first. Just to check how things were."

"Without weapons? Very sloppy."

"I know, and we had some," she bemoaned. "They didn't come through, either."

"You're lucky you weren't a meal."

"I get it, all right? It was stupid and lame and careless."

"Bleeding irresponsible is what it was," Spike put in. "The ponce could've gotten you killed."

"Hello to you, too," she retorted.

"Big sis is just tryin' to look out for you, nibblet. Same way she's always done in the past."

"Right, because she was so ready to tell me that you were back the last time we talked. I had to hear it from Andrew after I threatened his collection with bodily harm."

"Sorry I missed it," he mused, grinning.

Dawn very nearly matched it, her reaction torn between relief at seeing him alive and in the flesh again- and the intense need to pummel him very badly for not bothering to let anyone know he'd been a guest of the land of the living for months now. Instead, she reached over and brought her shoe over his boot, putting all of her weight on it with as much effort as she possibly could, laying her arms across her chest as she presented him with the most convincing expression of disgust that she could manage. "Idiot."

"Bollocks," he hissed. "That hurt."

"Good," she muttered, before diving into the pocket of her jeans and pulling out the object Angel had trusted her implicitly with and given her access to prior to entering the portal, extremely adamant about it not falling into the wrong hands. Upon first glimpse, she'd already known exactly what it was- explaining to him that it wasn't necessary that he launch into one of his rants about how vital it was to their cause. "I was also supposed to give you this."

Spike intercepted the pendant before Buffy was able to make a grab for it, holding it up to the light as he studied the stone in great detail, his handsome face falling into a frown. "Behold the shiny trinket."

"It belonged to a vengeance demon. The same one Angel thinks is still here."

"Oh, he does, does he? Hard to surmise much of anything in these parts with The Plague havin' their pick of free reign these days."

"He was a little conflicted after Whistler told him about the little girl. It's important that she stays alive."

"So you know." Buffy spotted that very same little girl to her left, her petite feet gradually edging her way to the forefront, holding her stuffed animal and pressing it more firmly against her chest. Her initial response was to go to her, but she couldn't decide whether or not her reaction had stemmed from what had already brought her here or because she genuinely wanted to show her the comfort she severely lacked in the wake of what had become of Anne and William. She remembered what Fred had confessed to her about a desire to take Noelle in as her own, and thought about how Wesley may as well have seemed oblivious to the appeal- not to mention averse, if his purported lack of concern for her lately was anything to be apprehensive about.

"Should we be worried that whoever owns that will find us?" Jonathan interceded.

"Think the trick is to find 'em first," Spike supplied, pocketing the pendant.

"You could probably get Tara to do a locator spell," Fred eagerly piped up. "As long as she has something of theirs, it should be a snap to find out where they are and if they're in the city."

"Well, let's have at it then, shall we?"

"You're not actually considering this, are you?" Buffy demanded.

"What, afraid all of this is in the bit's head and we're part of some huge conspiracy where we later wake up and have no memory of it?"

"We haven't even helped them stop The Plague, and you're-"

"_Relax_, would you? Wanted to mess with you a little, is all. Only hocus pocus I want her performing are ways to incapacitate this bleeding Plague epidemic. Surely they're still tryin' to pinpoint with some kind of accuracy there and have the ability to come up with a sodding gold mine."

"Tried and repeatedly failed," Fred miserably admitted, sighing. "We've stumbled upon a couple of the nests out on patrol, but the new location they've got for their main post is virtually untraceable. Wesley's tried to infiltrate it with no luck, and Charles has followed suit. For the most part, they don't let you see them unless they'd like to be seen."

"Fancy that. Seems coming out into daylight is hardly probable then."

"I thought Wesley already found you and said how sorry he was about that."

"Oh, he did. Being the trusting poof I am, I just couldn't get it in my cranium to logically believe him. Wasn't exactly fair including everyone else in on the joke but the slayer and yours truly. Not to mention the girl."

"Whistler said she has some type of sight," Dawn brought forth. "That you guys should keep her safe."

"Way ahead of you," he drawled lazily. "She's special, we've got it. It's why some of us like to be educated on these impromptu _drills_ when the situation calls for it. Helps to know when we've been played or not."

"He didn't mean-" Fred began.

"No, I s'pose he never does, does he?" he tossed back. "He's got an entire team here who count on him and trust in him to do what's good and proper, and all he did today was think of himself. Bloody brilliant. Signs of a great leader."

"And you have confidence in your right to challenge this leadership?"

The former vampire turned around and saw the topic of their discussion standing behind him, greeting him with what appeared to be an automatic in his hand, the gun dangling quite loosely at his side. "I don't wish to fight you, Mr. Spike, and as I understand it, _wish_ is the operative word here. You've been thrust into our world as a result of one and still haven't any inkling as to how it all works. So let me educate you a tad, as you've so eloquently put it. You don't find them the majority of the time, they find you. They picked up on your scent from the moment you got here, and it only gets worse from there. Perhaps I should've taken some in depth photographs of the night they killed our seer, though I'm afraid you would've found them rusty in comparison to the damage they've already done. The bottom line here, is that you're in over your head. Whatever you think you know is nowhere near as clear-cut as you've convinced yourself it is."

"Might be best to put away your weapon when there's a child present, too."

"Yes, well, we're going to need it. Darla's just informed me that one of our men rang in a code red five minutes ago detailing a body two blocks from here in the same vicinity of a former department store, which I suspect is the closest we've come to discerning where The Plague have been holding temporary council all this time. You'll want something of our own to defend yourself with, and I'd strongly advise choosing something that shoots silver. This," he held up his, "is merely for insurance. I've got a rifle waiting for me, and there have been more set aside for anyone who plans on joining me. Do we have an understanding?"

"I'll go, the slayer can stay."

"Wow, and here I was all ready to back you up in your endless quest for notoriety," she snapped. "Besides, I think I'm more than capable of deciding for myself, don't you?"

"Just figured you'd fare better here watchin' your sis and the little one, is all."

"Dawn can keep an eye on Noelle, can't you?" she asked her.

"Yeah, but Buffy-"

"I know, you just got here."

"Catching up isn't really an option then."

"Dawn-"

"That, and whatever other stuff you've been keeping from me," she deduced. "You know, something apart from how you and Spike were practically voted parents of the month in this dimension and also married and in love? I had to hear it from Angel, who heard it from that stupid guy with the hat. I wonder if she has an Aunt Dawn?"

"Look-"

"Or a grandmother who's still alive here by the name of Joyce. Remember her?"

"Even if that were true, she wouldn't be _our_ mother. She might talk the same and act the same, but she'd be _Anne's_, and I'm not Anne. Whether she's living the good life in Florida or New York, or God knows where, she wouldn't be a part of our lives, Dawn. Deep down, you know that."

"So you keep saying."

"You wanted to come here so bad," Buffy disclosed. "So the best thing you can do for both of us right now is watch the niece you never had and do what you can to make sure she stays indoors. Spike and I should be back soon."

"Fine," she rattled off as if were just another replay of the scenario that had occurred in their apartment in Italy before her sister had hurried off to Los Angeles to visit her former boyfriend. "Just go. Lately it seems to be all you keep doing, anyway."

"That's not it."

"It's good. I mean I'm a big girl, right?"

"I am, too," Noelle stated as she inched closer to her.

"Do I get paid for this?" she implored. "Watching kids is hard work."

"Seeing as you've done it in the realm of never, I doubt you're overly qualified to make that decision."

"Who found the body?" Spike inquired.

"Dave," Wesley answered. "Scrawny fellow, blonde hair. It's likely you were already introduced."

"Oh, right, guy who's handy with a keyboard. Buffy said something about him aligning himself with some demon masquerading as a robot in our world."

"Well, he was," she pressed as she trailed after them and chose a rifle from those laid out on the table next to her. "Plus, hey, did I mention he almost got me electrocuted in the girl's locker room? He wasn't _directly_ responsible, I'll grant you, but he still had a hand in it with that jerk Fritz. It took me forever to get my hair back to normal again. That's not easy when you're a girl trying to fit in in high school."

"That's nice, love. But we don't have time for pleasantries right now. Maybe you can schedule a heart to heart and vent through his likeness in a setting of your choice when we get back."

"Okay, abusing sarcasm much?"

"Were the two of you really this meddlesome to one another on your side, too?"

"Tried to kill each other first," Spike uttered honestly, "and when that didn't work, we eventually had a few shags to rectify the problem."

The fist he felt slam forcefully into his arm as they exited the warehouse didn't go unnoticed, and he glanced over his shoulder apologetically. "Sorry, love, but he did ask."

"Maybe it would in our best interest if we both never said a word to each other. Ever. Again."

"Well, we never really did when we were all caught up in the throes of passion, either. If I recall, it was just a bunch of noises. Some so loud you should be glad I had that crypt. You know, the same one you found all comfy like when you weren't flying out of there at breakneck speed to get away from me?"

"Spike. Shut. Up."

"Word association again. Right then."

The walk was long and tedious, and Buffy found herself praying that they stumbled upon a car somewhere that actually remained working despite most of them being destroyed when the city had initially surrendered its beauty and crumbled to a large mass of utter nothingness. It wasn't literally Hell on earth, but it was close. The empty windows of shops stuck out amongst the debris that sore thumbs, advertising that they'd closed up for all eternity, but that it hadn't exactly been by choice. When a city that was probably just as full of life as the one she'd traveled here from had been reduced to nothing but ash and rubble, the devastation never truly left, spreading wings overwrought with misery and the occasional regret that nothing could've been done to prevent such a catastrophe from taking root and swallowing everything whole- only to spit it back out in a completely fractured state that was clearly unrecognizable to your average local inhabitant.

She couldn't say which she felt more sympathy for. The scary reality that those who still lived here and moved about in secret would never really have what she did over on her side, or the monsters who were melded together as a result of an experiment, only to make more monsters in an effort to overrun the city limits and do the bidding of whoever the mastermind behind the scenes controlling them was.

"Over there," Wesley indicated.

Buffy's first impression of the form that lay face down beneath all of the dirt and soot was that the woman was dead, the distinct lack of breath from her vantage point a fairly palpable giveaway. But as they crept closer to her, she could see the pronounced, yet subtle signs of life and she almost professed a thorough sigh of relief. She had brown hair with the occasional curl in it and her body was clumsily clothed in what seemed to be a hospital gown, her feet bare and containing several cuts- some of which were surprisingly deep and still bleeding.

"I urge you to proceed with caution. She could be working for them, as this is just the kind of distraction they're used to pulling on us. It's right up their alley."

"The Plague?" Spike reiterated, dumbfounded. "Would've thought this was too smart for the likes of 'em. If anything, it looks like she was held somewhere. Tortured."

"That may be, but we really have no-"

"You said they did experiments, right?"

He shared a knowing gaze with the slayer, nodding. "Yes, that's correct, though this appears to be more a case of exerting unnecessary pain to gather information. If The Plague had been anywhere near her, she would've literally been torn apart."

"Maybe whatever she was meant to be failed so they discarded her. Got rid of her like yesterday's garbage. That could happen, couldn't it?"

"I would presume so," he concluded. "I can't even begin to imagine how much she's suffered. Such a tragedy, really."

"We should get her to Fred," Spike suggested. "The bird could have a look at her...patch her up. Got a few nasty scrapes, but it shouldn't be too hard to remedy that with some antibiotics."

Buffy set down her rifle as she moved toward the frail form, the voice groaning when the owner struggled to draw themselves upright, the strength in their arms failing them as they gave out in a crumpled heap once more, the figure too tired to attempt another try. The slayer lowered herself to her level, gripping her arms as she turned her over, her green eyes awash in shock. Smoothing out the hair that covered the woman's cheeks, she delicately cradled her head in her heads.

"_Anya_?"

"Bloody hell," Spike murmured. "Don't know about you, pet, but I'm startin' to notice a theme here."

"What, you mean like dead people yay?"

"Yeah, that one."

"But I'm not dead," Anya grumbled. "Or at least...not anymore. He didn't say becoming a demon was part of the deal again. Oh, and just for the record, this isn't even my dimension. Everything's boarded up or torn down, and you're not likely to find any decent money lying around for consumption. It's not like you'd even be able to use it, anyway." She finally allowed Buffy to help her up, her hands holding her head while she fought to clear it. "Why would I be dumb enough to choose here?"

"You tell us," the peroxide blonde prompted. "You're the one suddenly making with granting wishes to poor defenseless children, which is hardly your specialty if I sodding recall."

"Yeah, and he fooled me."

"Fooled you?"

"That bastard D'Hoffryn. If it's any consolation, I would've much rather been resurrected in a world filled with shrimp. _Anything_ would be more appealing than this, especially if you know what's coming."


	15. Chapter 14: Conspectus

A/N: Thank you very much TheBlueDragonWolf, Spuffygirl, Danielle Christine, and mom8828. :) Happy you're still having fun with the story.

Chapter Fourteen: Conspectus

_"The ultimate authority must always rest with the individual's own reason and critical analysis."_  
- Dalai Lama

"So you're human now, huh?"

"S'pose big sis is just telling everyone these days," Spike drawled as he studied the lit cigarette in his hand, disgusted with himself for being unable to abandon the bad habit completely. He savored the familiar taste as he helped himself to yet another drag, dangling it loosely between his index and middle finger. He was sitting lengthwise upon an old bench that sat about twenty feet in walking distance from the warehouse, his boot covered feet crossed at the ankles and resting comfortably upon the aged wood. He'd since changed into a ratty brown wool sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the same pair of worn jeans hanging over his hips.

"Well, it's a little obvious with you being out during the daytime and all," Dawn Summers professed fondly as she shrugged, her tone surprisingly light.

"To be perfectly frank, I don't know what I am anymore. Still have the strength and speed, enhanced hearing and smell."

"But your heart beats," she pointed out.

"Yeah, and I'd be lyin' if I said it wasn't startin' to drive me bloody starkers." He turned and shifted his legs so they hit the ground, crushing his cigarette beneath his boot. "So what brings you all the way out here? Wager there's some important schooling to be had for you inside."

"They haven't started yet. Fred's still taking care of Anya's injuries," she clarified, noticing the vacancy. "Can I sit?"

He raised a beautifully scarred brow, surprise faintly evident upon his features. Of all the sodding things he'd expected her to say, that hadn't been one of them. In fact, judging by how things had gone inside earlier after her arrival, he hadn't expected much of anything. "Be my guest."

"Thanks, though not really enjoying the second-hand stinkiness. At least you know enough not to do it around Noelle." She waved a hand in front of her face. "For the record, Tara said it's denial, and that you need a really strong will to quit."

He smiled. "So, what now? You actually in the mood for conversation or do you fancy another sparring match?"

"We haven't really seen a lot of each other these past few months."

"Well, no," he managed. "I suspect that has a lot more to do with crumbling to ash and you not knowin' I was back than it does anything else."

"Probably," she surmised, feigning seriousness while she nodded, her smile matching his.

"Realize it's still not my place, but you should mind the slayer. Grow up too fast and you're likely to ask for a do-over somewhere along the way."

"Are you guys together now?"

He rubbed the palm of his hand along the rough material of his jeans, chuckling to himself. "Gets right to it, doesn't she?"

"It's not like I can get anything out of Buffy about it," she griped. "Besides, I'm curious. I mean now that you're not a vampire anymore, it should be easier."

"Right, easier." He leaned forward and clasped his hands together, sighing. "Don't want to be the bearer of bad news once again, nibblet, but it's not exactly permanent. However, Buffy's indicated she still wants to try, so we'll attempt to have a go of it. See what happens."

"Plus, hey, you're different people now, aren't you?"

"We are, but there's other factors at stake here."

Dawn shook her head, taking a deep breath. "She doesn't know that I know this, and she'd maybe kill me if she did, but even before the whole...wish thing, there'd be some nights where she'd just kind of sit there. I'd see her, but I don't think she saw me. I never really asked her what it was about, because I figured it was sort of private. It always made me wonder if she was thinking about you. It wasn't long after we battled The First in Sunnydale, and the not being the only slayer stuff was a lot to process. There was Faith and everything, but now that we have the others..."

"The bit's apparently gotten wise beyond her years when she isn't wasting precious time to complain," Spike remarked.

"I'm sorry, okay? She didn't deserve that."

"Think you should be telling _her_ that."

"If it's still worth anything, I'm really glad you're back. She missed you."

"And what about you? Miss me, too?" he asked, somewhat hopeful as he stood.

She responded by throwing herself into his arms and wrapping them around his waist, burying her face in his chest, her voice muffled as she spoke. "Do you even have to ask?"

"Dawn-"

"You remember what it was like losing Buffy, don't you?"

"I do," he acknowledged. "Been traipsing through my thoughts more than just a tad today after the discussion we had upstairs. Seems convinced it makes her unreliable in the grand scheme of it all, but I'm determined to convince her otherwise."

"Unreliable?"

"Can't fathom stealin' her thunder on that one, so you'll have to bring it up with her."

"For what it's worth, losing you was a lot like losing her. But I think she felt it just a little more than the rest of us."

"That right?"

The teen pulled back when she saw Buffy headed in their direction, her strides long and her arms crossed over her chest, the expression on her pretty face slightly pensive. She glanced around the grounds very briefly before returning her attention back to them. "Anya's asking for us. She said she doesn't feel comfortable talking to the others, so I put her up in our room."

"Wait, you're...sharing a room?" Dawn questioned, the large grin that fell across her lips too big to ignore.

"Yes, but rest assured we'll be sleeping with our clothes on," her older sister quipped, rolling her eyes.

"You'll be in the same _room_," she pressed. "Not that I'm not happy you've decided to refrain from scarring me for life with anything you guys eventually do, but what-"

"We're taking things one day at a time," Buffy insisted. "I've asked Wesley if they could fix up a place for you, and he says Fred'll have it ready by tonight. You could see her about some pajamas, too. They've got a lot of things in storage."

"What wrong with what I'm wearing?" she countered.

"Nothing, except we don't know how long we're gonna be here and you wouldn't be practicing good personal hygiene if you had on the same outfit day after day. Are unidentifiable things growing on your plates because you never liked to clean them ringing any bells?"

"Gee, thanks, Mom."

She tensed for approximately an increment of a second before she caught herself and quickly covered, instead motioning for them to come inside. "It'll be getting dark soon. I think they trust us enough by now to know that we're good with weapons, and Gunn says we're scheduled shortly."

"Look, about the way I was when I-"

"Don't worry about it," she stated firmly, cutting her off. "You're here now, and that's the important thing. I'd probably worry more if you weren't."

"Sure you're ready to be out on the hunt?" Spike inquired, his blues voicing their own concern as they studied her rather closely, noticing for the first time that her overall demeanor seemed to be lacking some of the confidence she usually carried with her in abundance.

"We need to find out where they've been living, don't we?"

"We do, but if you're not feeling ready for it, I could take the bit here out, show her the way of it. She's been on patrol with you in the past, yeah? Pretty handy with holding her own in a fight."

"A very firm _no_."

His brows knitted together in confusion. "No, she hasn't, or no to patrol?"

"Need I remind you that you just barely escaped the last attack? You. A former vampire."

"All I had on me was a makeshift stake, love. Wasn't exactly packing with a rifle, was I?"

"Not, but it stresses how we really need to be more careful."

They entered back through the warehouse using their stones, Dawn having been given one of her own when she'd initially arrived and been granted the proper access by Tara. Spike wondered if there was something besides the idea of impending motherhood nagging at the slayer's subconscious, and if there were, he was determined to find out what it was. It hadn't been his intention to pressure her about it, but if her reaction had been any bleeding indication, he concluded that the best option would be to just let it go. If anything, there was another idea taking root and being tossed about in his brain, and he was under the vaguest of assumptions that she might be strangely receptive to it. "And patrolling?"

She began to climb the stairs, aware that he was rather close behind her. "Me and you? We've done it lots of times before."

"But we never made it a date, did we?"

Her mouth opened, yet she paused in her response, making sure to keep her line of vision focused on the hallway that loomed ahead of her. "You're saying you...we..."

"I'm saying that while it's not improbable an evening for two in an extravagant setting isn't entirely out of the question, the chance that we'd actually get to enjoy it could be a bit slim. Hadn't really put two and two together before when I'd thought it through, and now that I have, I'm thinkin' it's not us."

"Not us," Buffy repeated slowly. "Dare I ask what _is_ us?"

"We get off on the fight- the rush of it. Bloody ridiculous to pass up an opportunity tonight, right?"

"So you think we'd be better suited for a date where there's a lot of fighting."

"Well, yeah. Expensive silverware and a snooty wait staff hardly amounts to any real fun. Want my girl to have fun." They stopped at a doorway not far from their own, the space so compact he guessed it might've been some sort of walk-in janitor's closet before Percy had gone and done some much needed renovating. "I also wouldn't say no to stagin' our very own fight and workin' ourselves into a sweat."

"Sounds like someone needs some incentive," she remarked, turning around to wink at him.

"Wouldn't say no to that, either."

"Gross," Dawn muttered under her breath.

A series of giggles could be heard emanating from their room as Buffy hesitantly approached it and edged the door the rest of the way open, the remainder of noise culminating in a pair of tiny feet pounding over the floor as Noelle raced around it clutching Mr. Fluffy, her countenance a cheerful mess of cluttered amusement.

"Hide and seek is not a game, little girl, it's an additional form of torment." Anya Jenkins cautiously rose to her feet, using the left side of the bed as leverage while she picked herself up, extremely mindful of the bandages occupying her wounded body. Huffing out an annoyed breath, she meticulously began the aggravating chore of straightening the wrinkled green blouse she wore, re-attaching both buttons at either wrist.

"Is...everything good in here?" Buffy prompted.

"That child fills me with terror." Anya just barely missed sparing her a glare to go along with the overt annoyance before she frowned. "I had no idea they could be this unmanageable after they lost their parents. Say what you will about them, but they're still irritating. She was much nicer before she made her wish."

"Yeah, about that," Spike started.

"Oh, here we go. Here it comes. Yes, I admit it, I made a mistake. A big one. But at the time, I didn't even know I was making it. This was usually Hallie's department, not mine. I just assume deal with a full grown woman than a spoiled little brat. If what you said is true about how you were called here as a result of what I did, then I guess D'Hoffryn must've gotten what he wanted. Yippee for him."

"What happens if we undo it, smash the pendant?"

"Well, that's the tricky part, isn't it?" she retorted. "If you destroy it, I won't be a vengeance demon anymore. I'll be fully human again. Mortal. Possibly dead. You'll also be sent back and these people will still need someone to help them or they'll all die. If I'm not a demon, I won't be able to help you help them. D'Hoffryn owed the Senior Partners and I guess his time must've been up, because he dragged me out of wherever I was and asked if I wanted my life back. I thought he meant temporarily because there was some stupid favor he needed that only I was capable of- but it turns out the terms were much more involved than that. Honestly, if I'd known, I would've stayed right where I was."

Noelle's bottom lip began to wobble as she stopped and stared at Anya, her blue eyes on the verge of watering up. "You don't like me anymore?"

Dawn bravely took the initiative, kneeling down beside her and gently putting each of her hands upon a petite shoulder. "How about we go downstairs and see what the others are up to? We'll see if we can find you a snack. Would you like that?"

Halfway between tears and happiness, she relented. "Can we? Really?"

"You bet. Let's go." Dropping her stuffed animal, Noelle clung to the younger Summers' as she scooped her up into her arms, her miniscule hands taking turns running her fingers through Dawn's long hair, seemingly becoming preoccupied all over again.

Buffy waited until both of them were out of sight. "And now that we're done hurting the feelings of innocent bystanders, is there anything else you'd like to tell us?"

"It's not as if I was overly amenable to the idea," she affirmed. "Did I also mention the part where you won't even remember this world if you harm the pendant? It's basically along the lines of what I did for Cordelia when she was broken up over Xander, only in her mind none of it ever happened, because alternate Giles made short work of it and I couldn't even buy a beer. It probably wasn't even worth the money, anyway."

"Cordelia did what with Xander?"

"I granted a wish for Cordelia right after she broke up with him. Remember? Well, you obviously don't, but...vampire Willow at The Bronze. Wanting to make everybody a meal? She was from that other world. What some would consider a better one if you like to be eaten."

"So we're basically only left with one choice here," she finished.

"Yeah, that about sums it up. But The Plague isn't the worst of it. See, the Senior Partners have a Wolfram and Hart here, too. It's concealed from view unless they let you see it. On the outside, it looks like your typical lying and cheating law firm, though I'm sure some of them actually _do_ conduct business that's on the level. But dig a little deeper, and you'll find that what's just under the surface is worse. Much worse. It turns out I was caught in the middle of something that was already in progress when I decided to come to Noelle's rescue after D'Hoffyrn pointed out her despair."

"It's why her parents were killed," Spike brought forth. "The Senior Partners knew she was a bloody seer."

"Yes, and she would've been easy pickings for them if you hadn't come along," Anya elaborated. "From what I could gather after two of them snatched me up before I could leave this lousy excuse for a dimension, they wanted me to bring her to them. Lure her out of here. When I refused, I was subjected to hours of nasty little surgical tools at their expense. Oh, and let's not forget the drugs. I couldn't even use my powers against them. They're responsible for making The Plague, too. You want a better, stronger soldier, what else can you do but breed two species together? Two species that have a real...flair for wrecking things."

"And they couldn't actually kill you because you were the one that made it all happen for D'Hoffryn. It's why they let you go. You didn't get that she was the same girl the Partners wanted when you tried to give her what she needed in her grief. Now they know where she is, and-" Buffy's green eyes widened as things were becoming more concrete in her mind. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it? Because they have me. This was all planned. They had to get us out here somehow. Noelle was their bait. The whole seer thing is a big tip off, but the added bonus is who her mom and dad were. What they looked like. They would've known that when they asked The Plague to kill them. These Senior guys have been wanting to get back at Angel in a huge way for destroying their army, and they have us just where they want us. The dream, the wish, all of it."

"Isn't this just what Soldier Boy and his men had in mind back when the buggering Initiative was still up and running?"

"The Initiative wasn't interested in a slayer like that," she told him. "Walsh wanted me dead because I was getting in the way. From what Angel said, Wolfram and Hart had some stupid goal about trying to get him on their side. It wouldn't surprise me if all they want is to see what makes a slayer tick and subject me to one of their so-called _experiments_ to do it."

"Glinda told me slayers were wiped out in the city before she was born. Fed me some story about how a lot of people assumed they were lab rats."

"Lab rats, huh?"

It was then that it hit him. "They want the bit 'cuz she can see things they can't- tell 'em when trouble's on its way. She'd be their eyes and ears. Want her to work for 'em so they can corrupt her sodding innocence and shield themselves from whoever or whatever tries to take 'em down."

"Only we won't let it happen. They're convinced that if Angel loses me, he'll lose sight of his mission completely and just do what they want him to. It means more now, because they know he'll blame himself for this one. You followed me through, but that was probably more for Noelle's sake than anything else. They don't need you as much as me. You're not really the father she lost."

"You're also not her mum."

"Do you remember where they took you?" she queried, glancing back at Anya.

"No, they injected me with something when they grabbed me. I wasn't totally out of it, but things were still a little blurry. I remember getting into some kind of car before they threw me out of it, though."

"A car."

"What is it?" Spike murmured.

"A car that works," Buffy said softly.

"Been my experience that they usually do," he confirmed, still not comprehending the full connotation. "Which is why I'd kindly appreciate it if you'd tell me where you're going with this, love."

"What have you noticed about most of the cars here?"

"Well, a lot of 'em are buried beneath all the debris, so I don't think-"

"Exactly, so it shouldn't be too hard to spot one that runs just fine, should it? Wesley and Fred have been saying how hard it is to get in and out of the city because they'll be spotted right away."

He nodded, catching on. "Tara said one of their own just barely made it back with this most recent trip to get supplies. Looks like they don't have a vehicle to do the job for 'em."

"So we look for someone who does. We could start where we found Anya, split up during patrol tonight."

"Uh, splitting up really isn't the way to go," the woman who was the topic of her sentence advocated, raising her hand. "You're just setting yourself up if you're alone. You need to stick together. Oh, and is there any chance I could have my pendant back?"

"Hate to say it, pet, but demon girl has a point. Charlie Boy would want us to stay with the group- first time out and all. No telling what we'll run into out there."

"My pendant?" Anya tried again. "For the record, I have absolutely no clue how it ended up in some voodoo shop all the way in-"

"Fortune teller," Spike explained. "Romanian in origin."

"Whatever," she corroborated, "can I have it?"

He very nearly smirked. "Really think it'd be safer with me."

"C'mon, Spike, stop being such an ass. I was just tortured for a few hours. The least you could do is cut me a break."

"No more wishes. Got it?"

"I'd have to find a small child or a scorned woman. That geek with the glasses is so in love with the tall, dark-haired English one it makes me sick. I get the impression the witch could go either way, which is odd considering how attached she was to Willow when the other one was still alive."

"Thought you mostly dealt in kiddies now."

"I do," she reasoned, "but it's not like I'm limited to them. The right one comes along who's just been burned by her scheming, up-to-no-good boyfriend, and bam. I do still have a quota to fulfill, and it's getting awfully tempting to refuse now that I'm getting a better picture of what the story is."

When Buffy had failed as yet to incorporate her two cents into it, Spike chanced a glimpse in her direction, his stunning face cloaking itself in the same faraway look hers was currently projecting, those generous lips of hers somewhat pursed. "Slayer? You with us?"

"With you," she mumbled numbly, not quite registering his presence. It was almost as if she were suddenly unable to process that she wasn't the only one in the room, her emerald eyes resigning themselves to a state of mildly fascinated shock. It wasn't as bad as the catatonia she'd lapsed into when Glory had taken Dawn, but Spike was convinced the severity of the present situation was beginning to gradually take its toll and eat away at her as she envisioned all of the possible implications that could arise from it.

"Would you mind leavin' us for just a bit?" he beckoned to the vengeance demon.

"No problem," she advised. "And hey, I'm on your side, all right? After what they did to me, it's safe to say I need to see this through to the end. Who knows, maybe I'll even live this time. I'll admit I'm not overly fond of this dump, because like it or not, they don't appear to be ready for my honesty- but I digress. We all do what has to be done, don't we? Maybe when you have a minute, you can tell me how you died and what happened to Sunnydale. I...may or may not be open to hearing about Xander's fate."

He waited until she left before crouching in front of a frazzled slayer. Sometime during the course of his brief discussion with Anya, Buffy had sat herself down on the bed, her hands tucked safely into her lap and her back arched forward as she stared at nothing in particular on the ground. Spike reached up and cupped her cheeks in his hands- a gesture he was becoming strangely at ease with when she wasn't compelled to exact the urge to throw the same punch she'd delivered against him in the alleyway prior to the demonic ambush. An ambush that hadn't been a mere party of one, but many. He thought it was fairly amusing how it was a single demon that had actually gotten the drop on them when the wanker of a creature had been hauling it all by his lonesome- the sky growing darker and transpiring into rain and portals. "Buffy, pet, you in there somewhere?"

"Uh huh," she complied in a low voice. "All here."

"Don't s'pose you'd care to tell me what was wrong upfront before I have to resort to-"

"I'm fine," she reiterated. "I guess it's just a lot, you know? A lot in so little time, and we haven't got the time to prepare. The potentials, for whatever reason that lacks logic, didn't exactly make it over here, and Dawn's not ready for another battle. There's just so much to do."

"I know, but we'll do it, won't we? Together. Just 'cuz I'm human doesn't prevent me from rushing into the thick of it with you, horns blazing. We're in it together. Always have been."

"Well, not when you were trying to kill me."

He laughed. "No, can't say as that's something we would've been familiar with. But you were never afraid to let me have it back then. Only one who was a real match for me. More ways than one, too, 'cuz I still remember how we felt when we weren't at one another's throats beating each other up for the hell of it."

"You can't go away," she whispered, her words oddly hoarse. "Not again."

"Buff-"

"You know that, right?"

"I do, and it's not like last time. For one, no bloody amulet."

"But there's a pendant."

He dismissively waved a hand to the side. "Piffle. Pendant's Anya's, and she couldn't _pay_ me to wear that God awful gaudy piece of jewelry if she were the last bint on the sodding planet and asked me to do it for the good of humanity. I'd find another way, yeah? I'm wherever you want to be, and if that happens to be preventing another apocalypse from coming to pass, so be it."

"We're gonna need more than just the twelve of them, and half aren't even seasoned fighters. I couldn't see this dimension's Jonathan taking out ten Plague guys all on his own, could you?"

"No, sorry to say it's even worth a visual." He moved in for a quick peck of his lips against hers before he could stop himself. "Percy mentioned the neighboring alliances, though, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but from what he told us they don't meet up for coffee and donuts because of some kind of...safety thingy."

"Maybe it's time we take it upon ourselves to start forming a few more connections then. Appoint our branch as a sort of welcoming committee."

"By not telling him. Great, yep, way to earn his respect and prove our trust to the rest of his team. Solidarity, woohoo."

"Sound more like Anya by the minute."

She ran a hand over his sweater, doing what she could to smooth out some of the wrinkles in it. "I'm sorry, I...we're about to lay a heck of a lot on the line for a little girl and-"

"She's worth it, isn't she? Deep down, you know she is. She's not officially a part of us, but something makes you believe she is, or she could be."

"I see it sometimes." She dropped her head for just a moment, and when she raised it again to look at him, he could see the tears shining in it. Her vulnerability was incredibly endearing to him, and he took an almost intimate sort of pleasure at just how exposed she was. They'd witnessed equal parts good and bad in each other- and sometimes the bad had struggled to overpower and outweigh that good. "You, me, her. We're at some playground and she's begging us to go on the rides. It's gorgeous outside. The sun is shining, there's not a cloud in the sky, and she's telling us we have all the time in the-"

"World," he echoed.

"Is it just the wish, or is it us?"

"The wish..."

"Is it just because of the wish that we're seeing it? I'd like to believe it's because we actually want to, and-"

"A wish isn't making you do anything now, Buffy. It may have brought us here, but we're in complete control of our actions from this point on."

"I'm glad I came to you that night."

He cocked his head, regarding her with just the smallest bit of puzzlement. "What night would that be, love?"

"When I arrived in the city. I was just gonna go straight to a hotel, avoid the extreme awkwardness. I'd even promised myself I'd be completely strong Buffy, but it all kept coming back to you. When I saw you again, it was almost like you never left. I could reach out and what I touched wouldn't disappear. It was you."

"Thought all you'd be worried about was finding Peaches and askin' him if he'd Shanshued in time for dinner."

"Highly unlikely, as I'm still not even totally clear on that Shoo-in concept to begin with."

"Shanshu," he corrected, smiling at her mishap.

"But even if he would've, we've had too much time apart for me to want that anymore. I mean, yeah, I came to see him because I thought he needed my help, but that's all it was. We'd share some stories, catch up. Nothing to be concerned about, trust me. He knows it too," she acceded. "He probably wasn't thinking that way at the time, especially with you in the picture, but I doubt we'd even recognize each other in terms of who we've become."

"You're still talking about you and Captain Forehead here?"

She grinned. "Check out the jealous man."

"Can't be jealous when you're usin' past tense, can I?"

"You're really something, you know that?"

"And on that glorious note, I propose we temporarily open a portal and send him a care package with Darla in it. Anonymously, of course. Wouldn't want him to suspect anything on our end, would we?"

"Nope, never."

"So now that we've established that I have no intention of perishing in yet another apocalypse, what do you say we grab a bite or two before we head out tonight?"

"Sounds good."

"Sure you're-"

"I'm positive. You can't deny that what Anya was saying and what we're making of all this isn't true, though. It was done way before I bought my plane ticket, Spike."

"Figured that dream of yours was a result of Noelle's wish, but now I'd lean more toward a bunch of worthless lawyers who couldn't stand to be on the losing side, and felt intimidated by the fact that Angel and I used some magic to take on their precious army and shred 'em to pieces. Wasn't any small task, mind you, and it exhausted the hell out of us. Crawled away from it with more than just a couple bruises, too. Some of us didn't make it, and you can see he hasn't forgiven himself for it. Sometimes I think he believes he's right back in there, reliving the same sodding day all over again, wondering what he could've done more clever like to have saved us all. Been there myself a time or two."

"It's who he is, and who he'll probably always be. There was a time when I felt the same way. But thinking like that, it...you're basically up against a no-win strategy, and you're just deluding yourself if you don't think there's another way. I know that now, and I can't pretend otherwise."

"You never fail to amaze the hell out of me, Goldilocks."

"Maybe it's just because I know what I want."

"You do."

"Yep, and if tonight's patrol with Group B is gonna more or less be our official date night, then sign me up."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"And hey, window shopping. That's part of a date."

"I really do adore you."


	16. Chapter 15: Strife

A/N: Thanks TheBlueDragonWolf!

Chapter Fifteen: Strife

_"In strife who inquires whether stratagem or courage was used?"_  
- Virgil

It was, even now, incredibly haunting.

The darkness had descended over the city in all its hazy fallibility, the shadows taking up shelter in each and every crevice, framing a starless sky where the only source of light was the moon. Occasionally, a familiar howl filled the air, slicing through the impending silence like a knife and disrupting any genuine attempt at normalcy. An ominous breeze stirred up particles of dust in search of trees that were no longer there. A faded stop sign bent at an impossible angle lay in two pieces in the middle of an otherwise empty street, its message of instruction horribly defaced by The Plague's calling card, representing an open circle drawn with black paint and surrounded by what appeared to be flames- alerting any and all remaining residents that they were canvassing the area in search of more victims.

Buffy lifted it with her left hand as she cradled her rifle in her right, bringing it closer for further inspection. The sketch was still fresh, which meant it had been done fairly recently. Maybe even in the last ten minutes. Shoe prints were clearly visible in the debris at her feet, but the evidence was currently proving to be a jumbled mess as each distinct set seemed to go in a different direction, lending itself to additional confusion. She frowned, dropping to her knees as she studied them in greater detail, looking up only as a pair of black boots stepped into view, abolishing whatever hope remained of tracking and determining their origin. "Nice going, Inspector Gadget."

"Won't need 'em." Clothed in a black sweater and the exceptionally worn jeans he'd gradually adapted to wearing with a certain kind of reluctance, his rifle was secured by a harness at his back. He'd refused to wear the gloves he'd been given and had made a comment about not wanting to resemble any club Captain Cardboard had ever been a member of. Despite his list of ongoing complaints, she thought he looked every bit the part of a world weary soldier set to do battle on an alternate plane that had been demolished by a race of pure blood demons set on claiming it as theirs.

"Don't suppose you'd care to tell me why?" she added, a false intonation of pleasantness coating her voice while she batted her eyelashes at him. "Not to mention, it's probably the only solid we'll get in terms of a lead tonight."

"Charlie Boy thinks he's found Anya's car," Spike murmured.

"The same car they drugged her in, and took-"

"One and the very same." He tilted his head as he regarded her on the ground below him. "That Jesse bloke's about to pop the bonnet. Care for a peek?"

Jesse McNally, she remembered. Xander and Willow's friend from Sunnydale High, lured over to the dark side by Darla and eventually turned in an effort to be upgraded to bait for the upcoming Harvest. Here, Fred had informed her he was a looter and a pickpocket before he joined their cause and made an attempt to reform his ways. Wrong as it may have been, some of what he'd stolen and lifted from tourists prior to everything literally going to hell, had actually been beneficial in bargaining for supplies elsewhere. Buffy imagined that made him an asset to the team.

Smiling, she abandoned the sign in the dirt and accepted the hand Spike offered, allowing him to pull her the rest of the way up. "Let's go."

"Engine's still warm," Gunn told them as he met them halfway. "Whoever was driving probably didn't get far on foot. It's a sable black two thousand two Cadillac Deville Sedan with black interior."

"Wow," Buffy uttered, notably impressed.

"So, your girl Anya," he began. "She from that other City of Angels, too?"

"Yep, well, Sunnydale, technically. But seeing as it's essentially no longer a landmark, she might have to do a little relocating when we get back."

"Dead in the water. They won't be coming for it," Jesse announced as he made his way over, shaking his head. "Engine may be warm, but they're out of gas. Looks like somebody really miscalculated the miles it would take to get to the nearest station from here. I found traces of blood in the back seat. Guess it's how they carted your friend around."

"Wager they'd already have a spare at their disposal," Spike concluded. "When Angel ran the Wolfram and Hart on our side, there was a whole bloody garage full of cars for him to play with. Always liked to take his sweet time in gettin' me one of 'em, too."

"We have no way of knowing who it belongs to?" the slayer asked.

"Checked the glove box and trunk," Gunn volunteered, shrugging. "It's all been wiped clean."

"Yet they were stupid enough to leave the blood."

"Maybe just careless on purpose," Jesse told her. "Besides, there's no cops around to bother. You can basically do whatever you want here if you're able to pull it off. These guys are good."

Buffy sighed, blowing out a breath. "Got that right."

Spike immediately picked up on the level of distress present in her tone, his senses sharpening. "What is it, love?"

"Why would they just leave it? I mean aside from the gas problem and the blood, it's still in really great condition. One of us could attempt to get some gas for it if we got out of the city without them spotting us. We'd be gone and they'd lose their chance with Noelle."

"Which is what you're suggesting we do, 'cuz this might be our only shot at it."

"Best case scenario," she muttered softly. "But I really don't think it's what they had in mind."

He followed her gaze dead center to reveal a total of three men dressed entirely in black from head to foot, a ski mask hiding each of their faces from view. They didn't seem to be packing anything on them and their hands were hidden by matching black gloves. The wardrobe hinted at bank robber, though they seemed to be anything but.

"Who the...hell are these guys?" Gunn questioned, hefting his weapon tighter in his grasp as he observed each of the men in turn.

"Take it they're not friends of yours then," Spike put in.

"Never seen 'em before in my life."

"Not human, either," he continued. "Well, not completely, anyway. Could be I'm lagging a tad behind on that sort of thing these days, but I still know a half demon when I smell one."

"Or several," Buffy noted, raising her brows.

Jesse picked up his own rifle resting over the trunk of the car. "I guess we can rule out the fact that they just came to talk. It's never about the talking."

"On the contrary," the one in the middle spoke up, his voice gruff, but very much American. "It's our objective to make this as painless as possible. But if it's pain you want, we've been instructed to give it to you." He stepped aside, crossing his arms over his chest as he inclined his head toward the hybrid creation behind him. "There are plenty more where he came from."

"Believe you forgot to include yourself in that complex equation, mate."

He returned his attention to Spike, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The silver will not harm us. We're immune to its properties."

"Yeah, but he isn't," Gunn affirmed, as he saw the opening and took it, raising his Winchester Model 70 and firing. His aim struck the single member of The Plague directly through the heart, the impact enough to propel the body backward and to the ground.

"Fair enough," the stranger confirmed. "He's just one of many, and all I have to do is give the signal. There's a much easier way to do this and I prefer we didn't have any more bloodshed between us."

"You want the girl," Buffy said as she stepped forward, laying her own rifle on the pavement.

Spike was unable to conceal the worry in his blue eyes, the sound of the heart beating in his chest still a little jarring as he advanced a step in her direction. "Mind telling me what you're doing, Slayer? These aren't our bloody saviors here."

"We're aware you have her," he pressed on, ignoring the interruption. "It's not _all_ we want, but given the terms I'm about to present to you today, it's already a good start."

"We're not exactly in the business of negotiating," Gunn retorted. "Besides, you had your chance after you sent your dogs in to kill her parents. Thought mom and dad might've given her to us before you sliced and diced and ravaged the place. Looks like you boys have got a seer of your own up your sleeve. Too bad she was a little off on your timetable."

"They couldn't find her the night of the murders," Buffy echoed, as she tried to separate the particulars that were borderline vague from those she already knew. "She was there, but they couldn't find her."

"Secret passageway," Spike suggested. "Adjoining rooms? Some hidey hole still big enough for the nibblet to squeeze through. Must've come out after they'd gone and it's where Percy found her."

"I think that what they're trying to say here is no deal," Jesse informed their company.

"Pity," the masked man said quietly. "I gather you're implying force is necessary. Very well then. In approximately three minutes, I'll be dispersing the first wave within a two block radius. If you're lucky enough to make it out alive, know that we've stepped up our measures to disarm that warehouse of yours and will have trumped your witch's magic by daylight tomorrow morning. If you should make it back there in time, maybe you'll even be able to tell her."

"Okay, about splitting up..." Buffy initiated.

"_Go_," Spike urged her. "Pick up your sodding weapon, and go. Be right behind you."

"We're not running anymore, and you're staying right here."

"Bugger that."

"_Spike_."

"He's right," Gunn chimed in. "Not enough backup tonight. Well, not in the actual sense, anyway. Luckily, we've got this." He withdrew an object from the pocket of his jean jacket, holding it up between his index finger and his thumb, no bigger than a golf ball in terms of size and a vibrant shade of pink in color. Grinning, he rolled it toward the men and waited. It only took a matter of seconds for the trigger to go off as it exploded into a large puff of smoke, instantly lowering visibility and putting a barrier up between them, making it literally impossible to see. "Thank you, Fred."

"_Fred_ gave you that?" Buffy sputtered.

"It's just a harmless smoke bomb, but it buys us a few. C'mon."

"Why don't you and Jesse go left and we'll go right? We can cover more ground that way and The Plague might have trouble picking up on our scent if we go it our separate ways for now."

"Shoot if you feel threatened," he advised her. "Don't think, just shoot. Sometimes taking out just one'll weaken the rest of the pack. Get 'em to back off. Not always, but…shoot."

"Wesley said they fled at the apartments after their leader was injured."

"Like I said, shoot first. Meet you back at the house."

She nodded as she took off running, Spike keeping pace with her as they rounded the corner and crossed a deserted street, taking cover behind a large building that appeared to have retained three of its floors while the remainder had succumbed to the wreckage around it. She wondered what it must've once been in its magnificent glory- in all likelihood towering over most of the neighboring locations that surrounded it, none of them coming close to matching its original height. They were shrouded in total darkness now, without even a speck of light to guide their way. She couldn't deny that she was on the cusp of panic mode, just waiting for the reality of the situation to finally sink in and consume her. Her breath was coming in gasps that were strained and unrefined, her pulse thumping uncontrollably at her wrist.

It slowed considerably when she felt a pair of warm hands cup and settle on either side of her face, unable to deny that his constant method of steadying her was working- just as it always had. "I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm okay."

"S'pose we'll need to work on that whole lyin' thing, too. Bloody irritating is what it is. Just 'cuz you're the slayer, doesn't mean you're not allowed to be scared. They're out there, we know it. Can't pretend they're not."

"I'll be okay," she repeated.

"How about from here on out we try and refrain from usin' that word?"

"We were about to be lunch back there."

"More like dinner and an appetizer, but who's really keepin' track? What we need to do now is lose these sodding rifles. They're not us, and we're not the type to stroll about town flaunting 'em and bragging to people about what we can do. They'll only slow us down."

"We need the silver. It's not about slowing us down, it's about making sure we have something to defend ourselves with. Look, you saw what happened when you tried to use a stake. It wounds them, but doesn't exactly deliver the killing blow. We can't just leave them incapacitated. They have to be dead."

"Percy's just deluding himself about that antidote, so I'd say you're right."

"We need to find out who the guys in black are. When we get to the warehouse, I'll talk to Fred, and we'll-"

She wasn't prepared for the growl or what followed it, as she felt a large fist slam roughly into her ribs before being dragged out into the open and thrown face first into the ground. Just barely avoiding a second punch, she dodged it with mere seconds to spare and slipped away, dropping into a roll and scurrying out of view. The same monster was already coming at her for another go, drawing her upward and clamping its teeth down over her shoulder until the amount of pressure it exerted drew blood. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming in agony when the pain distorted and dimmed her eyesight so much she thought she would black out. Breaking away from his hold and falling into a crouch, she swept her leg out from under her and knocked him off balance, sending him spiraling onto his back.

"Buffy!" Spike raced towards her, his hands avoiding her shoulder as he began to gather her to him, losing his grip straightaway when the creature suddenly rammed into him from the side and sent him careening to the pavement, his hands slamming onto the rubble in front of him. The jagged pieces of rock sliced deeply into his flesh, cutting open his palms and making them bleed. It was fairly reminiscent of the day they'd gone through the portal and ended up on this Godforsaken scrap of nowhere and he was growing weary of it. He yearned to have the side he'd lost returned to him- though it was difficult to deny the qualities he kept and wore proudly as some amped up human weren't nearly as bad as he thought they'd be. He just hadn't grown fully accustomed to accepting them in a way in which he would've liked.

A way that suited him and made him feel more at ease.

Diving for the rifle he'd placed aside when he'd come to the slayer's aid, he managed to edge himself toward it as the gravel scrubbed relentlessly across the legs of his jeans, tearing a fraction of the material before securing and hefting the weapon into his tattered hands. Angling his body a tad to the left and making his endeavor from below, he fired the first shot, watching as it struck their perpetrator in the neck and brought him to his knees.

Buffy limped toward him, her own rifle in her possession as she struck The Plague hybrid in the forehead with it and took her own shot, her close proximity permitting her what she needed to put a round into his heart, the silver promoting a gradual, albeit disturbing picture as it leapt at the chance to permanently disable him while he wasted away.

It acted as a kind of parasite, eating away at him until little remained.

"See?" she professed somewhat exhaustingly as she stumbled toward the former vampire. "Always good to have weapons. Weapons are of the good."

"Better sit, don't want you to-"

She slumped her head against the building and dropped the Winchester, clutching at her damaged ribs and moaning, her teeth gritting themselves more out of annoyance than the persistent throbbing that coursed through her veins, her body virtually immobile.

He collapsed to his knees in front of her. "Need to get you somewhere safe. That shoulder will only make it easier for more of 'em to suss you out and go for the kill. This shoddy excuse for housing will have to do for now, and there might even be some kind of washroom if the first floor's intact. Whether or not we get more than that will depend on whoever paid the bleeding bill and if they had any leverage with it. Think you can make it inside, lamb?"

"Just give me a minute."

"Haven't got a minute. Here." Despite her tiny sounds of protest, he gathered her up and proceeded to lead her through an open doorway that had likely represented some kind of exit at one point throughout the structure's far less complicated existence, nearly tripping over a fallen board on the way in.

"You should get our guns," she mumbled.

"Already on it." Carefully settling her into a dusty, but sturdy desk chair, he went out to fetch the rifles, bringing them in and propping them up against the wall.

"I bet this was some kind of lobby," she volunteered. "It looks a little like the place Noelle ended up in last night."

"So it does," he commented.

"Bathroom's about ten feet ahead and off to the left."

He cocked his head to the side as he stared at her with more than just an ounce of suspicion assuaging her statement. "Been here before, have you?"

"No, but something about it seems really familiar."

"Could've passed by it during the day after we found Anya. Plenty of light to see inside it then."

She bit her bottom lip as she helped herself up, strenuously making her way across the mess that stood between her and what was on the other side of the room. What she _knew_ was on the other side of the room. She'd never set foot inside the establishment in question before today, yet it still felt strangely right. She wondered if _Anne_ had ever been here before, and if her memories were somehow starting to rub off on her by some means. It was the only explanation she could surmise to be true in lieu of the circumstances. It wasn't even something she could remember dreaming about at any point. Yet here she was, making her way over to a room that may or may not exist based on a simple deduction of knowledge she shouldn't even have.

It was implausible and thrown out in left field.

But she couldn't ignore it.

Even if they _had_ passed by it when they'd been out with Wesley earlier, it wouldn't have explained how she claimed to recognize somewhere she'd never seen that intimately. She'd only just found the building not long after the confrontation by the car- automatically gravitating toward it as if it were in her nature to have done so.

Like she knew it would be here before they'd even approached and caught sight of it.

A door with a womanly symbol on it loomed ahead of them, and she pushed it open without even thinking, trekking even further into the darkness to reveal a series of stalls and sinks.

"Lost me here, love. Hadn't fancied you for another seer myself, but maybe the bit's powers are startin' to rub off on you."

"Or maybe Noelle knows where we are and she's helping us."

"Yeah, that must be it," he drawled, his eyes rolling heavenward. "Right now I'm more concerned about what that bite will do to you if we don't treat it good and proper."

"Werewolf."

"Could be the hybrid aspect cancels that out and you've got nothing to worry your pretty little head over, but I'd still like to get a look."

"I don't feel any different," she acknowledged. "I mean, yeah, it hurts, but I've had worse than this."

"We both have, but if it's all the same to you, I'd feel better about it if you took that sweater off."

"Guess I only got a couple hours' worth of wear out of it." Nodding, she moved to lift it up over her head, wincing as the discomfort increased and spread to the full extent of her shoulder blade, gritting her teeth while she trained herself to ignore it. A cream colored tank top remained underneath with a built in shelf bra. She hurriedly dropped the sweater over one of the stalls and came to stand in front of him, shivering as he began to examine the gash The Plague had taken out of her, thankful that she'd lived to tell about it if what Wesley had said about them was true. In short, he hadn't been exaggerating. If the one attacking her had somehow gained the upper hand, she'd be crawling instead of limping to get away as she was torn limb from limb.

Pulling out his cigarette lighter, he lit it and shone the speck of light over the lesion, frowning. "Don't know what Charlie Boy was thinkin' gettin' us out here without more members of his group in tow. Bloody stupid, you ask me. May as well have been a setup."

"Are you trying to say you think those guys with the creepy color obsession who gave us some major wig are survivors working for the-"

"Not so farfetched, is it?" he countered. "Could be they turned some of 'em over to their side of it, did experiments and put a bit of demon into 'em. Promised money, power, the whole lot of it." Turning the knob on the sink, he was relieved when running water began to trickle from it, reaching for a paper towel in a dispenser that sat at a slant on the wall, one side hanging off the hinges. Making sure he wet it completely, he gingerly applied it to her wound, his blues learning the room in the dark. "Suspect there's a first aid kit around here somewhere. Be able to tend to it more thorough soon as we find it. Probably aspirin in it, too."

"Did we forget the looters?"

"Buffy-"

"Place like this with that kind of access, it's possible they've already taken everything they can from it."

He arched a scarred brow. "Rid yourself of optimism, have you?"

"You seem to be full of it lately," she casually remarked. "Long past basement-craziness-with-a-soul guy, and transitioning into level-headed guy with lots of plans. I like it."

"Near the far wall, attached to the side of that last stall," he pointed out, indicating a flash of white metal. Hastily heading over to claim it, he pried it open with little difficulty, surprised to find the bulk of the contents still intact. "Think we just struck gold here, Slayer. Fred could use some of this, too."

"And then there's looking-out-for-everyone-else guy when the man himself could use some gauze to wrap up those hands and find something sanitary to use on them."

"You first, pet." Setting the box atop the other sink and placing the disposable gloves included over both of his hands, he gently applied an antiseptic wipe, hearing her hiss loudly as he followed it through with a generous amount of antibiotic ointment.

He capped it off with the largest bandage he came across, making sure it dressed the full length of her injury before he discarded the gloves and tossed them into the trash can perched near the door. "We'll get it checked better when we get back, but in the meantime, I'd like to take a gander at those ribs of yours, too."

"I'm fine, Dr. Spike."

"Dead serious here." He met her eyes with an obvious sign of disapproval before his fingertips grazed the material of her tank top and edged it up over her bare stomach, his anger rising when he spotted the intense bruising on either side, urging her to hold the shirt the rest of the way up while he took his time trailing the pads of his thumbs over the damage. Her flinch didn't go unnoticed as he continued to poke and prod, searching for anything of the broken variety. He found himself relieved that she was so quick to heal, but not that she'd have to suffer the brunt of the ache for awhile longer. If there was anything that stuck in his craw and brought out the worst in him, it was seeing a Summers woman take it on the chin and wait out the bad until they'd glimpsed a sign of good. He'd told as much to Dawn after Joyce's passing, and it hadn't changed one bit.

Well, maybe the thought that Buffy would drive a redwood through his chest, as he didn't see it happening in whatever future they'd have together- much less if he was human.

"Do I get a clean bill of health?"

"Ribs are good, but it's a close call. Thinkin' we'll need to build sheets of armor that fight these wankers to the death of it. Buggers are strong and they don't let up."

"Hence the whole unstoppable killing machine thing," Buffy corroborated, smiling. "It's like Anya said. Those lab guys got what they asked for in what they wanted to make. An army of soldiers. Sooner or later, they'll stop listening to commands."

"Best if you take the bed tonight," he reasoned, covering her stomach with her top and pulling it over her hips. "You need the room and I can't see you gettin' comfy without it."

"I want you with me," she insisted. "He really clipped you and I don't think the floor is gonna do wonders for any of your bruises, either."

"Right then."

"Besides, you made me all fixer uppery, and I think it's time to return the favor."

"Heal fast myself, so it's not necess-"

"It is. Now get over here and hold your hands out."

"Ever the bossy chit, you are."

She began the involved task of removing gravel from the cuts he'd endured across his palms, ridding them of the clutter before applying the same ointment he'd used on her and wrapping his hands in sterile dressing. She used the adhesive tape to hold it in place and placed a butterfly kiss over each one before shoveling the items back into the box and snapping the lid shut. "I think that'll do it."

"Thanks."

"Thank _you_."

"It wasn't-"

"It was, and I consider it very big. You were here, and that's- well, it's more than I give the others credit for. But to be fair, they really couldn't have it any other way if the rest of The Plague is out there doing cat and mouse. We should still ask Wes if he knows anything about the others, though."

"Have to make it back first and I don't think we're more than five minutes out."

"Or we could just spend the night here and try escaping in the morning. There's still two extra floors, and if it was an office complex..."

"What about little sis and the bit? Don't get back there by tonight and we run the risk of anxiety, tears, and whatever else they drum up."

"We could use the rest and the peace and quiet. If more of them were coming, they'd have already been here by now, and I doubt they'll sniff us out in here."

"Something else might."

"Is it always your primary goal in life to be this bullheaded?"

He could almost see the anger rising in her cheeks. "What's that you're on about?"

"You!" she claimed. "Is it so bad to just relax and take a time-out every now and then? I mean as badly as I want to help that little girl and get these people to safety where they won't become the main entree in a dining hall for hybrids, we need to make sure we're actually able to do it. We're down for the count right now, and all you can think to do is-"

"Try and get to the warehouse where our resident scientist can get a sample from you and see that you're not turnin' into one of 'em? Bloody hell, Buffy, is it so wrong to care about you that way? If we're gonna see if this...arrangement works for the both of us, I don't see how me tryin' not to worry sick over you is the biggest problem we have between us."

"Well, why don't you just get it all out into the open then?"

"Oh, that's ballsy of you. Provoke a fight that doesn't have proof to stand on so you can take away what's really got you in a chokehold in that ridiculous noggin of yours. Always did have a sodding knack for it."

"I didn't come here to-"

"Neither did I, so let's just leave it." Practicing extreme caution, he advanced towards her. "Truth is, all I can bleeding think about is what'll happen if I don't get to feel what it's like to hear my own buggering heart beat against yours when you're beneath me and I'm inside you. The way we'd be together. Want to be able to give you the warmth you've given me. Know you're not ready for it, and I would never- not anymore. Got no intention of hurtin' you. Trust you already know that or else you wouldn't still be here."

"It's not about that."

"Appreciate it if you'd enlighten me then."

"If I was afraid of what you- if I was, then I wouldn't have let you do what you did to me in the training room, or...or the bathroom at the warehouse. Or even anywhere else, for that matter. You never went through with it, Spike. You were able to see that it was something you couldn't do even without a soul. What about after you came back with one? What about what you did for me and my friends when you saved the world?"

"Wasn't much I wouldn't-"

"I know."

"We'll stay," he advised. "Right here. If that's what you want, we'll do it. No way I'm leavin' you by yourself. We'll find something nice and soft and we'll crash."

"I'm just so tired."

"Let's remedy that then, shall we?" Smiling, he tenderly lifted her up into his arms and began to climb the stairs to the second floor in search of a place for them to sleep and wait out the hours that remained until dawn.

"Great first date, though. Best ever."

He just laughed.


	17. Chapter 16: Perception

Chapter Sixteen: Perception

_"There are things known and there are things unknown, and in between are the doors of perception."_  
- Aldous Huxley

He watched her sleep.

She was always content when she slept. So much at peace with whatever worries were occupying her mind for the day, trying to taint it as they numbly forced her to oblige and conform to her calling. But when she submitted willingly to the depths of slumber and lost herself to the world around her, she became oblivious to those worries and they were almost immediately tossed aside. She was bloody captivating and she never failed to amaze him.

Sprawled on her back beside him, she was close enough to touch, the plush carpet on the second floor office surprisingly well intact when they'd happened across it in their exploration the night prior. One of her arms was draped over her chest, while the other was flung carelessly over her head, her feet bare and free of boots that were perched clumsily against an old wooden desk. He slowly propped himself up onto a single elbow and continued to study her and revel in her nearness, clearly in no rush for her to awaken. The time they'd had alone was a miracle in and of itself, not counting the day she'd barged into his apartment back home demanding additional answers to her various inquiries and testing the very foundation of his patience.

The bandage he'd placed over her right shoulder mere hours ago hadn't moved an inch, and he hesitantly brought his fingers to it as he began the arduous task of peeling it away from her skin to examine the extent of her injury- noting with some relief that the marks she'd endured were hardly visible anymore, which he surmised had to be a result of her miraculous ability to heal as the slayer.

Her tank top had ridden up to expose the bare flesh of her stomach, and Spike began to lovingly trace patterns over it with his fingertips, delighting in the feel of it as he explored its softness. Even the bruising across her ribs had faded, and his index finger wandered playfully over to circle and graze the inside of her belly button, eliciting what sounded an awful lot like a giggle. She was so petite, so fragile, yet the strength she continued to display moment after moment had garnered her nothing but respect from him, leaving him in a perpetual state of awe.

Her giggle became a gasp when he began to slip past the comfort of her jeans and she decidedly froze, her green eyes opening and locking with his as her breath caught in her throat, her body tensing. Clumsily shifting upward despite the fatigue that still plagued her, she saw him pull away, seeming almost guilty.

"Got a bit carried away," he murmured. "Won't happen again."

"No, it's not..." Buffy paused, glancing around her at what remained of the furnishings that surrounded them in the dilapidated office, everything around her appearing so distant and cold. It wasn't anything at all like what she'd felt when they'd taken refuge here and she'd gotten the distinct notion that she'd ventured inside when she never had. It was foreign now. A building whose memories had been buried beneath the rubble like the rest of the city. "You didn't do anything wrong, Spike."

He picked himself up and reached for the boots he'd discarded from his feet. "It's this place, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Kind of heightens the creep factor. Not really the best spot for a quickie, either."

He tilted his head to the side as he gazed at her, his beautiful face torn between amusement and frustration as his jaw tightened considerably. "Is that all you think that would've been? A quickie?"

"That's not what I was-"

"Considering we tipped the bloody scale at five hours a time or two, which is hardly that little while you seem to be so fond of, I don't wager I'd be willing to skimp on the finer points in this dimension, either. I'd want to savor what I have with you. Wouldn't be just sex anymore."

"Bad joke," she muttered. "But it's been awhile for me."

"You mean you never..."

"The last time was when Riley came back to Sunnydale."

Spike raised a brow. "Think you should rephrase that, pet, 'cuz I certainly don't recall you shagging him while he was in town again. Not to mention havin' him cheat on the missis."

She straightened out her top, taking the easy way out as she focused on the wall ahead of her. "My last time was with you. When Dawn and I got to Rome, there wasn't really any pressing need to hook up with the first guy I saw. I wasn't open to a one night fling, and while you most definitely probably shouldn't even be hearing this, you were the best I ever had. So the thought that anyone could ever compare after that is pretty much a moot point."

He was overjoyed by the admission. More than overjoyed. But there was something still nagging at him that prompted him to withhold any victories that might be in his favor. Truth of it was, he didn't know if he sodding deserved them. "Well, if we're confessing our deepest, darkest secrets here, I s'pose mine would be Harm."

"Harm, as in…Harmony. I already know all that."

"Don't think you do." He walked to the single window that overlooked the broken world around them, his blues adjusting to the brightness of a new day. Another day as a human- as a man who wouldn't burn to nothingness if the sun's rays befell him. Reaching up, he touched the cracked glass before plunging his hands inside the pockets of his battered jeans. "It was awhile 'til I became corporeal again at Wolfram and Hart after I came back. When you're a ghost you don't have the simple pleasures life gives you. Can't bleeding taste, can't feel- I was essentially deprived of my senses. After I was finally able to do those things again, I more or less jumped at the chance. Drank Angel's blood, hugged Charlie Boy. But even then, there was another urge that I couldn't exactly satisfy without..."

She walked up beside him, crossing her arms over her chest, her mouth set in a tight line. "You slept with her, didn't you?"

"Not in the way you're thinkin'."

"What other way is there?" she countered, an edge to her voice.

"It wasn't love, Buffy. Couldn't even look at her. It was basically about tryin' to get my rocks off 'cuz I needed to- look, we chose a random office and didn't even take our buggering clothes off."

"Oh, and that just makes it so much better," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"The point is, if I thought you would've had me then, I'd of made the trip in a heartbeat. But like I said before, once I'd saved the world and perished in the process, it almost makes it less noble to-"

"How far did you get?"

"Bird flipped out on me. Eyes went red and she bit me. Said I only wanted you. All part of the craziness that ensued once two vampires with a soul were all set to fight for the same cup. We've driven it into the bloody ground already, pet."

"Yeah, but you seem to have conveniently left her out of it. Gee, I wonder why that was."

"Didn't have to tell you about it, you know. Didn't have to say a thing. Just thought that if we were still gonna have a go at this we should try and be honest with each other."

"After that, did you-"

"No, wouldn't dream of it. Like I said, it didn't mean anything. Not like it did with you. She was, for lack of a better word, convenient. Just like I was to you after our first night together. But it's all behind me and it's in the past. To hold onto what we did or didn't do is useless. We have another chance here, and I don't want to waste it talking about something I never cared about in the first place. Never loved her."

"I get that," she stated quietly, still a tad uneasy. "I do, but you still should've told me."

"I was under the impression you were already off living the high life with The Immortal shortly after that and had done your part in moving on. Hadn't considered anything to the alternative after Andrew-"

"Why do I get the feeling _Andrew_ carries a lot of the blame for miscommunication?"

He smiled. "Always did fancy himself a good story, even if he wasn't in it."

"Do you think our mysterious men in black managed to crack the code on the warehouse yet?"

"Don't know," he added, shrugging. "Our so-called loyal crew's been doing this too long not to try and cover themselves there. They've been tasked with protecting the nibblet at whatever the cost. Our resident witch knows her spells."

"That's what bothers me though. If they had to let her go and it played into compromising their own safety, who's to say they wouldn't do it?"

"Believe you're startin' to overthink this just a bit. Dawn will mind you and keep her safe."

"She will," Buffy repeated.

Spike strode toward the desk and gently tossed her back her boots, sliding himself into the chair that occupied it, one of the wheels absent and missing from the bottom. He opened the middle drawer to reveal a set of blank pads and pens, all lined up and in perfect order despite the obvious mess that continued to encompass them. Whoever the former occupant had been they'd done extremely well with the upkeep, meticulously providing new meaning to bloody perfectionism. The top was completely bare, save for an old calendar with some pertinent dates scrawled across it in illegible handwriting. Doctors' appointments, weddings, and work related functions, most likely. It was typical of a setup like this. Something that made someone feel important because they had places to go and people to see. Gave their life purpose.

The second drawer on the bottom left contained a set of children's coloring books and a box of crayons. He thought of Noelle and her wavering attention span and began to dig each of the items out one by one, propping them onto the wooden surface before him. The framed photograph that was face down beneath the books didn't go unnoticed, and even as he reached for it, he began to suspect that he already knew what he'd find and why this building had quite possibly meant more to Buffy last night than it had this morning.

It was very probable her response hadn't been aimlessly triggered after all.

"Spike?"

He slowly turned it over, the tips of his fingers splaying themselves across the family portrait. A family that no longer was. Anne, William, Noelle and Joyce. The poses were professional and the background indicated some kind of studio, but it was definitely them. Grinning and happy and without a sodding care. He placed it beside the coloring books, deeming his quest for a name within them entirely unnecessary now. He could already hazard a damn good guess as to who they belonged to and who'd been here at some point using them while grandma conformed to what the adults did during the day and worked. He found the chances slim the chit in question would've found a route to have escaped in all the confusion, and wondered if the little girl was conscious of losing yet another part of her to The Plague. "Might've been an art gallery of sorts," he supplied, gesturing to his recent discoveries.

She picked up the silver frame with a shaky hand and studied it, her eyes brimming with the faintest hint of tears. But she wouldn't shed them, he realized. Didn't want to give in to the possibility that neither she nor Dawn had someone to call their mum here, either. Whatever paintings had graced the walls, been put on display, or crammed away in storage were likely stolen and sold off for cash to a neighboring city to the highest bidder. He almost wondered if Jesse had been responsible for any of what had vanished, but it could've been any number of those who'd survived the tragedy of a crumbling Los Angeles and given into greed and negligence, surrendering to evil to see that the strong prevailed while the weak had to suffer and pay for sins they hadn't committed. To be with nothing, as Noelle was, was punishment enough.

"She worked here. My- the other Joyce."

"All signs point to the fact that she did," he elaborated. "I'm thinkin' it's why you reacted the way you did."

"Is there anything else? Something that tells us what they were like?"

"She appears to have kept everything real nice and tidy. Didn't like to clutter her work space with as many photographs as the lot of 'em do. I've got what looks to be a stack of some kind of official form on the other side, but it's nothing that's gonna help us in any way."

She glanced at the photo one more time before placing it next to the coloring books. "It feels weird."

"Weird."

"Yeah. She looks just like my mom when you get right down to it, yet...she's not her. She may have had a daughter who could've _been_ me, but she wasn't. Not really. But to see it all right here, to...see how well they must've gotten on with one another, it doesn't sit as well as I thought it would."

"Different lives, same time."

"But no Dawn. Anne appears to be an only child and if there _was_ a Dawn, she would've been right there with them in that picture. She could've been living with this Joyce."

"Not necessarily. Might've already been on her own, and even if she were, you need to stop beating yourself up over who or what you couldn't save. Things happen, Buffy. It doesn't have to-"

"I'd like to go home now," she cut him off rather abruptly.

"Right. Just let me get this stuff together and we'll be on our merry."

"Do you really think that's a good idea? How do you even know Noelle wants to see it?"

"Only memory she clings to now is that nameplate. Could be good for her to have something a bit more real."

"Fine," she uttered. "I'll be downstairs."

He sighed as he gathered the items up into his grasp, her dismissal of what they'd just learned yet another issue they'd have to contend with and confront in checking it off the master list. She wasn't very chatty all of a sudden, and he wasn't going to push it.

His assumptions proved to be fairly accurate as they began the walk back to the warehouse, her attention focused straight ahead without ever once taking a gander at what he'd had the inclination to confiscate from the building they'd just come from. Spike had spent the entire night with her without a peep while she'd tuned out everything around her and was out like a light- but the minute he'd brought both of them back to the harsh reality of it all, she'd opted out and had chosen to keep as mum as Noelle initially had. It bothered him that he couldn't instantly fix it. That he couldn't blooming bring back those that were forever lost.

Headquarters appeared undisturbed as they approached. No angry blokes in black ski masks or hungry monsters from The Plague hanging about trying to invade and destroy. Everything was exactly as they'd left it when they'd departed for the hunt with Gunn and Jesse. As Fred came rushing toward them, having been alerted to the early morning entrance, he drew a finger to his lips and took her aside with his free hand. "Others come back all right?"

"They're sleeping," she admitted, immediately taking note of the grip he had on her as she adjusted her glasses atop her nose. "What's this all about?"

"Had a bit of a scuffle with a beastie last night. Slayer caught it pretty good on her shoulder. Was wondering if it was possible to examine it privately and give us the general consensus on the matter."

"It bit her?" she questioned, her brown eyes quickly filling with worry.

"Well, yeah. It's healing, but we'd like a second opinion here, doc."

"If it bit her, I'll have to warn the others. Or at least Wesley," she explained. "Protocol dictates that if one of us survives an encounter like that we have to be quarantined and removed from the general population. We could be a danger to ourselves and to others. This includes any person or persons within the same vicinity of up to a thousand feet. We have a special room on the basement level and some suits."

"In that case, tag, you're sodding it," he snapped. "Percy's pigheaded rules now include you, too. Willing to break 'em for a bit so you can have a look? 'Sides, if the two of us are infected, it means you are, too."

Her teeth clamped over her bottom lip, as her eyes darted from left to right, observing the overall quiet that descended over the warehouse. "I'll need a sample of her blood," she finally stated. "From there I can analyze it according to the-"

"Fantastic, we'll take the vacancy."

"We had quite a night last night," Fred confessed almost shyly as she relaxed. "Tara's magic almost didn't make it."

"They tried to destroy it so they could come in, didn't they?" Buffy spoke up, her voice sounding hollow and distant. A distance that couldn't be ignored, given the circumstances.

"Pretty much. She had to go full throttle before she was able to thwart them and I know it took a lot out of her. She's still resting now, but she managed to protect and shield that little girl. Noelle hid upstairs with Dawn while they waited it out. I could hear her crying."

"How is she now?" the slayer asked, obvious concern plaguing her tone. "Do you think I should maybe-"

"Go to her?" the brunette filled in. "Not now, at least. Like I said, most of us are asleep. Group A hasn't even gone out. I showed Dawn to the room I'd given her, and Noelle asked to stay with her for the night. She was too shook up to stay in her own and there probably would've been more nightmares. We don't exactly encourage that."

"The bonding or the nightmares?"

"The latter," she clarified as she signaled for them to follow her to what continued to serve as her own personal sanctuary. Indicating for Buffy to have a seat, she pulled on some gloves and began to prep a needle, not the least bit squeamish about withdrawing the thick metallic substance, pouring it into a glass test tube and covering and labeling it. "You were exposed, too," she reminded Spike. "It would probably serve in our best interest if I took one from you as well."

"Got no qualms about that." He set the books and the photo onto the countertop behind him. "Practically lived for blood when I catered more to the vampire side of the spectrum anyway."

"I'm guessing you rarely had it drained from you, though." She smiled then. "Minus when you were being turned, of course."

"Lovely story, and it's one I might actually entertain the notion of telling you some time. Unfortunately, we seem to have much more pressing needs clawing away up there and I'm forced to table it for later."

"So where were you guys? Charles and Jesse made it back a little late, but weren't even-"

"Injury free, were they?"

"They were," she acknowledged. "I mean they said they had a number of close calls, but that was it. They mentioned something about guys dressed in black and how they seemed to be allies alongside our infamous, unstoppable Plague. Something about wanting Noelle but needing to get across their own terms before they went to claim her. This was the first any of us had ever heard of them, as it's usually just been the hybrids and whomever was responsible for creating them. They've had followers, but only of demonic origin."

"I think it's okay to say those _terms_ of theirs include me now," Buffy put forth, frowning.

Fred pulled the needle from Spike who hadn't given her a single flinch, his blue eyes trained on the blonde woman in front of him.

"That's it, isn't it?" he prompted without warning.

"What's _it_?" she responded. "If you're just joining us now and-"

"You're scared she'll lose us, too. That she won't have any bloody family left if they take us in and perform their so-called tests on us. Thing of it is, we're still not her family at all."

"I don't think this is the-"

"Are we done here, Burkle?"

She looked from one to the other, somehow understanding that she ultimately wasn't supposed to be privy to whatever it was they needed to hash out between them. Proficiently bestowing him with a curt nod, she backed away slightly and moved to performing the same task she had with the other sample, disposing of the contents into a test tube identical to the other one and avoiding contamination as she capped it off.

"Aren't you even gonna tell her what we found?" Buffy muttered.

"She glances through my souvenirs, she'll see for herself. In the meantime, though, I think we need to take some more time for ourselves, suss things out."

"I'm not up for sussing anything right now, but it was awfully sweet of you to ask," she quipped.

"Didn't ask," he returned, taking her forcefully by the hand and pulling her into the training room further down the hall, closing the door and activating the lock behind them. His breathing just as labored as hers, he cornered her until her body was nearly flat against the wall, perfectly aware of their proximity again as he closed her in. His palms cleverly caged her in as they slapped against the plaster on both the left and right side of her head. "What's done is done, lamb. It doesn't mean we'll be next or we'll be all that easily caught when they try and catch us in that net. If anything, we'll evade, 'cuz we're much too smart for it. We've had years of practice, haven't we?"

"Not enough. Angel says these Senior Partner guys are-"

"Bugger it. Forget about 'em for now," he insisted. "Forget about 'em enough to feel, 'cuz if they take that from you, you really _are_ nothing. No way out of it. You're just a sodding puppet set to obey their every whim and command. It's not who you are, nor is it who you've ever been."

"And you just know me so well now, don't you?'

"I do," he echoed, "and you'll fight."

"Spike-"

"We spent another night together after not havin' done it in months, and the most frightening part for me was in admitting to myself that it's something I could get used for the rest of my bleeding life. Already used to it, in point of fact. Whether I'm human or a vampire or whatever the hell else in between, you're still there, Buffy. You'll always be there. Whatever other disagreements are in the bloody cards for us, we'll weather 'em and we'll be better off for it."

"I know," she whispered.

"The trick is to make 'em see it, too. Show 'em what you're made of so we can win this thing. It'll be tedious, and God knows it'll be hard, but you can teach our new friends how to fight all good and proper without usin' magic to do it. It won't hold 'em at bay forever and sooner or later they'll beat back."

"You're not half bad when you're tapping into that whole inner wisdom thingy."

"Happy to be of service."

"Why is it you're always around when I'm arguably at my most miserable?"

"Believe you once asked me something just like that before."

"Which you'd remember, because you remember everything."

"We'll never be able to take the easy way out, 'cuz it's just never applied to us. Not that simple. Never been in our nature to conform to it. We'll always stay in it 'til the death of it, as it's what we're built for- what we do."

When a knock sounded at the door in rapid succession, he pushed away from her, opting to ignore it altogether when her lips moved in to gingerly collide with his, a hand traveling through his disheveled light blonde curls. Her thumb tenderly grazed a fraction of the stubble he'd managed to accumulate all over again, and she knew with certainty that it had been a terribly long while since she'd grown this attuned to a man and his habits, reiterating to herself what had been there all along and reaffirming that she hadn't been too late to pick up on it. It had just taken some prodding to get her to see it. It wasn't like Riley and sensing somewhere inside of herself that she could never truly love him the way he wanted to be loved- or even Angel, who may have initially thought she'd just drop everything so they could resume where they'd left off after she'd already been told how close other women had gotten where she never could. It wasn't meant for her to. When he'd left her in Sunnydale, it had always been the end.

Story over, book closed.

But Spike had stayed by her side even when he could've gone and fled and never looked back. He was her constant, the one she'd learned to turn to when most of the others had betrayed her. He'd only ever left when he'd burned up and succumbed to ash after putting himself on the line to do battle with The First. While it might always bug her just a little that he never came to find her, none of that seemed relevant anymore when he was right here in front of her and very much alive. He'd continually taken it upon himself to bring her to the forefront of it all and call her out on what she rarely chose to call herself on.

"Buffy! Buffy, are you in there?"

Dawn.

Scrambling to the door, she yanked it open and was nearly thrown to the ground as her sister tackled her and threw her arms around her, squeezing her tightly with no intention of letting go. "When you didn't come home, I thought something had- you're hurt," she said lightly as she briefly inspected the bandage over the eldest Summers' shoulder. "It looks nasty. I'll bet it was nasty."

"No, I'm good. Spike patched me all up and then we-"

"Gunn told us you'd split up and he hadn't seen you after you were cornered by those new guys."

"We found someplace to stay and wait it out. Took a pretty hard hit to my ribs, too, so I wasn't really in any condition to get around that fast."

"Big sis did great," Spike informed her. "You'd be proud of her."

"I guess I should be, because she was still with you. Knowing she wasn't completely alone makes it a little better. I'm not exactly out of the woods in worryville yet, but I'm at least halfway there."

"Worryville?" he inquired, smirking as he brushed a hand over her hair. "Lucky you weren't with us, nibblet, or you would've been toast."

"More like scrambled eggs," she decided. "Anyway, Noelle was an absolute mess. Clung to me like crazy glue, but I think she just missed you big time."

"Makes sense, as we've basically confirmed she's got no sodding family left."

Her brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Anne's mom," Buffy volunteered, finding she was strangely all right with it now, the words tumbling out of her and with purpose. "She- her mom looked the same as ours did. The place we found used to be an old art gallery and there was a photo."

"Did...was I in it?" she queried somewhat weakly.

"It doesn't-"

"Was I in it?" she pressed impatiently.

"No, but Spike and I were. With Noelle. William and Anne. We also found some books that were used for coloring. It looks like her mom or dad would drop her off with her grandma before doing whatever it was that they did when-"

"I guess it just figures then, doesn't it?"

"Dawnie."

"I almost didn't exist in our world either, remember? I wasn't meant to. I was just a blob of energy that opened a portal so Glory could get home. Must be why I failed to be a part of this one, too. No monks ever made me here so there'd be no way Anne would be anything but an only child. I wasn't Noelle's aunt, because I was never in this city to begin with."

"But there must be a reason why you're here now," her sister pointed out. "You said you were the only one who came through when Willow sent you."

"A spell gone wrong. Happens all the time." Dawn shrugged, remarkably indifferent.

"And it's like Spike said. This isn't our world. Whatever became of it before Anya granted Noelle's wish is something we couldn't have prevented. It just is."

"Like I just was?"

"You weren't given to me as the result of a wish."

"No, but it's starting to seem that way, isn't it?"

"You need to stop thinking like that."

"I know, I just...what about Noelle? Are we taking her with us if they can find us a way back, or-"

"This is where she's from. It's all she's ever known. Fred's offered to care for her with Wesley if everything goes well, and I don't see that there's anything bad about that. If these people are who they say they are, she'll get the chance to grow up and be happy."

"And if they're not who they say they are?"

"Heard something we haven't, sweet bit?"

She shook her head as she awarded him a glance. "No, and I don't want to. They've all been really nice to me so far and Fred even gave me some clothes with the tags still on them. They're a little big, but I'm grateful." She clasped her hands behind her, and her blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "So did you guys, like, really sleep all night or did you do anything that actually bordered on interesting?"

"Interesting," Spike reiterated.

"Do _not_ answer that," Buffy warned him. "It's just her way of trying to get information she shouldn't be getting at her age."

"I'm practically a real grownup now," she protested. "Besides, I bet you guys totally had a bunch of sweaty sex in there."

"That would be filed under none of your business."

"Big sis is right," Spike corroborated, as he grinned. "Not to mention, she wouldn't be able to walk properly for at least another three hours yet if we engaged in more than foreplay."

"Oh, ew," she breathed.

"So not the way to go about it," Buffy scolded him. "You are such a bad influence on her, and for the record-"

"Careful, Slayer. Wouldn't want her to get any other ideas now, would we?"

"Says the guy who keeps encouraging her."

"Didn't do a thing," he offered, directing the response at Dawn. "Watched her sleep and slept beside her. Could very nearly be in the bloody running for the second best night of my life."

Buffy blushed a deep shade of pink all the way down to her toes, deciding she couldn't possibly love this man any more than she already did.

She just needed him to believe it.


	18. Chapter 17: Atonement

A/N: Wow, thank you so much Lauren and Spuffygirl!

Chapter Seventeen: Atonement

_"The beginning of atonement is the sense of its necessity."_  
- Lord Byron

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce approached the slender brunette with a fair bit of reservation, mentally reprimanding himself for being so indescribably anxious whenever he seemed to find himself in the same room as her. Her back was to him, and she was currently bent over the countertop to her makeshift workshop as she poured a liquid from one beaker to another, all the while very hurriedly using a pencil to jot down something onto a white pad of paper. Wondering if it might possibly be his antidote that captured such a tremendous amount of her attention, and also what she'd meant earlier when she'd so urgently demanded his presence, he smiled before reaching over to tap her gently upon her shoulder.

"Wesley!" She turned around a tad too abruptly and the empty beaker and its lack of contents promptly shattered to the floor, her brown eyes extremely apologetic as she rushed to contain the spill of glass with a small broom and a dust pan to her left, retrieving a small plastic bag concealed within the confines of her lab coat. Her hands still wrapped in latex, she began the tiresome task of ridding the bare floor of broken shards.

"Are you all right?" He kept his voice soft, not wanting to alarm her as he hesitantly crouched down to her level, his gaze never wavering as she resumed the arduous cleanup of the pieces strewn about before her.

"I'm fine." Fred averted her own and refused to meet his directly, bestowing him with a repetitious nod that was both clumsy and endearing in its execution, disposing of the bag into a larger one beneath the sink. "Did you need something?" she inquired, combatting his question with a question.

"I believe you said you had something when you asked that I drop by. Something important?"

Jokingly responding with a quick roll of her eyes and a girlish giggle, she finally acknowledged him with a swift smile. "I did."

Raising himself to his full height, he returned it, not entirely sure if he was crossing a line somewhere. "Then I trust it pertains to what we've been discussing regarding The Plague."

"Well, yes and no," she admonished lightly.

He quirked a brow, his handsome face resorting to confusion as he trailed his fingertips over the stubble gracing his chin. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"You need to promise me you won't overreact first."

"Overreact? What-"

"Promise me," she insisted more sternly.

"Yes, yes, I promise," he reiterated dully. "Now what in the name of all the Queen's English is it?"

"Something else happened last night."

"Something good or something bad?" The worst he could come up with was that she'd submitted to any feelings she had for Charles and left his unrequited musings in the dust- in which case he'd once again lecture himself internally for allowing such a devastating turn of events to unravel as a result of his own rambling insecurities.

"At first I thought it was a tragic something," she admitted, "but after conducting further research that more or less contradicted our initial stance on the matter and counteracted another one of my theories, which...in turn allowed me the privilege of investigating it in greater detail than I'd originally intended, I've reached the conclusion that my initial hypothesis was entirely false and widely off base. It was, however, not without merit, because-"

"Fred."

She chuckled, pulling off her glasses as she set them in the front pocket of her coat. "Sorry, it's- I think what I'm trying to say is that Buffy and Spike's tests came back negative."

"Negative for what?" he returned, still somewhat skeptical.

"Infection."

He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped closer to her, unaware that he was beginning to invade the realm of personal space for yet a second time that day. "Care to elaborate, or shall I just hazard a guess?"

"Wesley-"

"I suggest you hope for a speedy recovery, because the way things are going you may as well be gasping for air."

"I've just had a breakthrough here. Not just for them, but for all of us," she countered, her usually calm nature being overshadowed by anger. "As the slayer, Buffy's powers originated from the heart of a demon. It's what gives her-"

"Her strength, agility, accelerated healing properties," he cut her off. "Yes, Fred, I've done the reading. I'd just like to know what it has to do with an infection. All I ask if that you run this by me in advance so I'm not kept in the dark, and it would appear you've disregarded that in favor of conducting your own little list of experiments. There's a reason why we need to work as a team and that reason is now. They nearly destroyed the only haven we've ever known last night, and I can't take the risk that one or more of us may find ourselves in grave danger should someone in our group contract something that proves incurable and gradually begins to affect us all."

"Then maybe you could let me finish, so I could tell you that it's not necessary to freak out."

"Freak out?"

"Wesley."

He merely sighed. "Please then, carry on."

"Spike was a vampire before he came here, and technically a vampire is just a demon in a human body. A hybrid, just as The Plague is composed of Fyarl and werewolf. He still has some attributes here that don't make him entirely human, but he's mortal. What if what now lays dormant inside him was the only thing that stopped him from turning as a result of treating Buffy's wound? He came into contact with her blood. That's assuming a human turns at all, but it's something both of them have in common. The demonic aspect. I would never recommend that we provoke an attack to test this on the team, on a...human without the benefit of something enhanced, but those who haven't made it were too badly injured to withstand me taking any blood samples from them. There would've been no way to check."

"You're suggesting anything or anyone derived from that of a demon makes them immune somehow."

"I'm not positive, but yes. From what I've seen so far, the hybrid aspect that makes The Plague so volatile in their natural state could also be what prevents any sudden transition at the point of impact. It's why it probably doesn't bother them that they have demons too happy to do all of their hard work for them sometimes."

"Gunn stated our men last night bragged about being able to withstand the effects of the silver. Spike apparently believed them to be part demon. A bullet is a bullet no matter its composition."

"Well, it would explain why they'd have no trouble forming an alliance with our prime enemy," she pointed out.

"Indeed. I'd very much like to find out who they are."

"That might be a little tough, as they're not exactly handing out calling cards."

"No, but I suspect our Mr. Spike can pick up on their scent fairly easily and should be able to track them down without much difficulty. If we're lucky, it might lead us straight to their place of business. Where they conduct their affairs."

"Sounds great."

"Fred."

She shrugged. "Look, after what happened with Buffy, I don't think he's too eager to head back out into the field. At least not anytime soon. They were attacked, Wesley. I've already told them nothing came of it and they'll both be okay, but it's a lot to deal with. They haven't been here as long as we have. They haven't seen what we've seen."

"The child is certainly fond of them."

"Noelle."

"You've taken quite a liking to her as well," he commented.

"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, the...other something, anyway."

"Oh?"

"Instead of placing her in a foster home, I thought she could stay here. With us. Of course, considering how she seemed to instantly bond with Spike and he was the first person she spoke to since her parents died, maybe I've been wrong about this all along. Maybe it's not a question of choosing for her, but rather letting her choose. But then we run the risk of him turning back into a vampire once I find a way to return them to their Los Angeles, and I don't think a vampire is what you'd call an expert in raising children. Buffy's got her little sister, though, and I can't help but wonder if she'd be okay with it."

"Yes. Dawn. Quite a charming young girl. I dare say she takes after her sister in the way she carries herself."

Fred busied herself with tidying up the countertop with a rag, her mouth set in a firm line as she pushed her spectacles up. "I probably shouldn't have said anything, but I just thought we'd qualify enough to look after her if no one else wants to. The others aren't exactly well-versed, either, and I can't imagine someone like Darla taking a little one under her wing when-"

"No, you're right," Wesley acknowledged. "Although, I've oddly come to the conclusion that Darla in particular wouldn't mind making them with just about any man that were to cross her path should the occasion arise."

She tried to hide a grin as she turned around to face him again, her nose crinkling as the slightest touch of crimson colored her cheeks. "She hit on you, didn't she?"

He seemed rather pained at the prospect. "I didn't have the heart to tell her she wasn't my type. Perhaps there's still a bit of kindness left in me after all."

The resident scientist grew quiet as she occupied herself with aligning her rows upon rows of empty test tubes and rid herself of her lab coat, bunching it up to toss on the floor while she straightened out the thin cashmere sweater she wore over a pair of blue jeans. Her eyes found a speck of dirt on her shoe and she aimed her line of vision toward it, doing her best not to waver. "I shouldn't have pried. It's none of my-"

"My taste usually runs to women who don't have to try anywhere near that hard to make themselves appear desirable to a man. They simply just are."

Fred was struck speechless. She latched her fingers together as they rested in front of her, the pressing need to fidget strangely overwhelming, unaware of how much longer she could take the small subtleties and run with them, pretending they were something more. He was only being polite and respecting the fact that she was smart and brainy- and now she was suddenly finding herself unable to ignore the way her thoughts had begun repeating themselves when she'd unconsciously resorted to using two words that were practically the same thing. She wondered how it was that he always managed to leave her like this. "I don't-"

"The answer is yes," he declared.

She blinked. "Yes?"

"If the two of us should become Noelle's official guardians, there's no one else with which I'd rather share that responsibility. My father wasn't exactly the most encouraging of men when I was growing up, and we rarely saw to eye to eye, but if you'll teach me I'd like to learn."

"Teach you."

"The finer skills of parenting."

"I'm hardly competent there myself, so I was hoping we could learn together," she admitted.

He chuckled. "I trust we've entered into a binding contract then?"

"We have," she told him. "But I think it would be good if we shook on it first."

He held out a hand and she took it, secretly reveling in his warmth. She patiently waited for him to say more, and when he didn't, she broke away a bit abruptly, her eyes once again tearing themselves from his.

"Sorry to interrupt the plight of unreciprocated passion, but have either of you heard the horrible pitter patter of tiny feet in the last five minutes?"

"Noelle," they stated in unison.

"She wanted me to chase her," Anya explained. "Again. Like there has to be more than one time. When I outright refused such a meaningless request, Buffy got all huffy with me and I allowed the miniscule vertically challenged one to talk me into a game of tag. I'm tired, I'm thirsty, and I no longer want to be 'it' as she put it."

"Noelle ran by j-just a short while ago," Tara filled her in as she entered the room with a stack of coloring books in her hand. The same coloring books that had hailed from the former gallery where Joyce had been employed for a time before terrible misfortune had likely struck and rendered her incapable of defending herself from the onslaught of it. "She also didn't react well to these."

The vengeance demon barely spared the books a second glance. "It's because those illustrations are positively hideous. The artist should be fired or possibly demoted. I did bad things for over a thousand years and those are enough to make me question my own sanity."

"They're just bunnies," Fred volunteered.

"Bunnies are harmless," Tara corroborated.

"Bunnies frighten me more than a hundred of those children put together. You should burn that."

"She's had a reaction prior to this," Wesley reminded them. "The album and the photographs in it. In that instance, it could be traced back to Buffy and Spike's own likeness."

"All illustrations aside, that n-not why I brought them here," the witched continued. "It wasn't until she refused to outright put any of the crayons to paper that I found the reason behind it. Her grandmother had an envelope with documents pertaining to the level of experimentation the t-test subjects had been exposed to. It looks like it may have been something she was investigating on the side. Away from work."

"It's because she knew her granddaughter was a seer," Wesley murmured. "It's plausible she received some sort of insight as to what was going on behind closed doors. Maybe even tipped off by a shady client of sorts. It could be that she eventually doomed her own fate by allowing herself to become caught up in something she shouldn't have been. She would have paid for this evidence with her life."

Tara flipped to the inside of the back cover where an open white packet was taped to it. "Spike said Noelle told him Oracles guide warriors. She never specified just what k-kind of warrior her mom was."

"You're thinking Anne might've been called to be a slayer," Fred supplied. "So it's possible her mom feared for them both."

"That's a stretch, isn't it? I always thought slayers in these parts were rare," Anya piped up. "Are you sure that's even what they called them here?"

"It makes sense regarding their interest in Buffy," Wesley prompted. "She's not this child's family, but she does possess the very foundation of what it appears her mother was noted for. Why her father fell in love with her. Maybe it isn't about eliminating them anymore. Maybe it's about seeing what they can fix to build an even better soldier. A stronger, more efficient one than what they've managed to acquire with The Plague thus far. A slayer would actually possess the intelligence needed to further their cause. Coupled with a child who's very much on the unique side of the spectrum, the two of them together could fetch a pretty penny if someone were looking to make a profit and allow for a more advanced form of research. For them, Buffy's arrival really is that generous bonus they've been waiting for." He carefully opened up the envelope and began to take a gander at what he'd already gathered would be extremely unpleasant content.

It wasn't entirely unpleasant, Buffy thought. The luxury of a nice firm mattress beneath her to cushion her uninjured shoulder as she curled herself into a ball on her side to stare at the wall in front of her. She hadn't wanted to take any more time off than she had to, but Fred had insisted she take another breather until her tests results had come back. And they had, she knew. Everything was negative for both of them, and she really should spring into action and be 'take charge girl' again, because they really did need her. Aside from Spike, she was the only one who placed weapons secondary to what she really was and who she'd come to be.

Spike.

She could sense him even now as he quietly pushed past the closed door and entered the bedroom, his steps deliberately cautious, yet not without a certain kind of purpose. This morning had changed things between them again- shifted them just a little more to the right as they made her vision a bit clearer. A vision that still included him and her and some kind of life for both of them. A life that would never be boring. A life that she could view without tearing it down or tearing it apart and just be happy that she'd been able to live it.

"Please don't tell me you're gonna lay there all bloody day 'cuz our live-in doctor made a house call. Figured we'd already convinced ourselves she'd tipped the scale on the side of utterly bonkers."

"If she were bonkers, she wouldn't have agreed to treat us at all," she chastised him. "You may not have liked hearing the whole quarantine schtick, but they could really save some lives with it. It was actually pretty cool that they thought of it when they have so much other stuff going on here."

"Yeah, well, Percy's asked me if I'd be willing to brave another night of it tryin' to target a location for our new players."

"The guys in black."

"Half demons in black," he corrected.

"What did you tell him?" she asked somewhat weakly, not wanting to let on how desperate she was despite her wound having been giving the infamous sign of approval.

He knelt by her side of the bed, his elegant face not exactly forthcoming with his current expression. "If it lands me in quarantine and I've only got one good arm 'cuz the other's been chopped off, it's possible I won't be any sodding good to you and you'll attempt to get rid of me, anyway."

"For what it's worth, I don't plan to. Ever. Even with one good arm intact."

"Fair enough," he added, holding up both hands in what was his usual motion of surrender. "The quarantine bit hasn't exactly gone stale yet, and she's got a right good point now that I've had a spell to think about it, but..."

"But?" she echoed.

"He also said he had something to show us, and if his bleeding tone was the only thing to go on, I doubt it's anything that involves a way to beat back the nasties that frequent the area. Oh, and if you must know, which was debatable in your condition, I-"

"My condition," she repeated, feeling a strong urge to reach out and smack him despite being advised to comply with mild-mannered and helpless as she jumped onto the remainder of the recovery train. "Could you vague that up for me?"

"Told him I'd rather spend time with my girl today. If that's all right with you. You were there for me when my chip went all wonky and stayed behind to help when you didn't have to. We made a choice that day. A big choice. Don't think you regretted it for a second."

"Well, I regretted Riley calling you assface, but that was surprisingly typical of him when putting our entire relationship into perspective."

He only rose a brow and cocked his head. "Mind sitting up for me, pet?"

"If it requires any movement on my part, then I'm thinking yes."

"Not as bad as it sounds. Honest." He drew himself upright and sat at the edge of the bed, cradling one of her feet in his hands as he slowly removed her sock, balancing the weight of it upon his knee. His blue eyes trained on her, he began to tenderly knead it, easing her into a steady rhythm as he silenced the ache he knew she'd felt to the full extent when they'd made the trip back to the warehouse that morning. She leaned her head into the pillow she'd propped behind her, her lids closing and her lips opening in a quiet, satisfied moan. Relishing in the notion that something so simple could bring her such pleasure, he touched his own lips to each of her toes and placed an additional one upon the pad of her foot before setting it down and tending to the other.

If she wasn't already in love with him, that would've cemented it in stone for her. He was all about continuing to show her that such a simple act didn't have to be derived from sex to be intimate. "You still haven't given Anya her pendant," she remarked.

"Sometimes workin' alongside someone in a battle of epic proportions doesn't have a lasting effect on whether or not you can trust 'em when their former boss brings 'em back from the dead and sets a price in return."

"You've just gotten used to Noelle to the point where you can't imagine what it would be like without her."

He rolled his eyes. "Wager it makes me into a real poofter and all that rot, doesn't it?"

"You can trust an old friend without it going sideways. Seriously, she doesn't have anything to gain from this. They've already tortured her and she withstood a lot of pain before we found her. She never gave in and led them to Noelle. Just like you didn't give up Dawn when Glory had you, and you had every reason not to play by our rules if it meant getting your own butt kicked in the process. Anya may be a demon again, but it doesn't mean she's any less...Anya-like."

"S'pose that would mean I was wasn't any less Spike-like," he concluded.

"Exactly. Look, as stupid as this might sound, I'd really like to make the effort to reach out to any of the survivors who haven't been compromised. It's not as great as having dozens of potential slayers on our side, but we need to start building our own group of fighters if we expect to go up against however many baddies they'll try and throw at us. Two of us just barely made it with one of _them_, and we need to be ready."

He trailed an index finger along her outer thigh. "Hard to believe we're gonna raise a bloody army to fight for the likes of a life we could've had, ain't it? A nibblet who could've been ours."

"She is."

"Beg your pardon, Slayer?"

"Not in the way of being biologically ours," she brought forth, "but in the sense of still feeling like she could be. You asked me about kids before, and I-"

"Wasn't meant to throw you. Not like this. Know you don't have it all sussed out yet and I couldn't even tell you who sodding does. We continue to be who we are, Buffy, and whether or not that is or isn't what we had all mapped out and signed along a dotted line remains to be seen."

"But you'd want who you are to be with me."

"Damn right. I've never been one for gettin' all weepy and whatever else unless it was that stretch after I'd just gotten my buggering soul, but I'd like to think I was lost to that after you made the move to help me be a better man. Showed me I could be."

"Up until the Bringers took you and offered you up on a sacrificial plate to The First."

"Right then. Take it you win that round."

"But you never stopped believing I'd come for you. Save you."

"Believed in me that much when no one ever had. Saw me as a person. A bloke who'd reached the ends of the sodding Earth to get back a part of me I hadn't had inside my body in over a hundred years. All right there, isn't it?"

"It is," she agreed. "More than is. I think it scared me just a little to know that someone loved me that much. Would do something that drastic to prove they could- I've never forgotten. Sometimes I'd just sit there and the day I lost you at the school would just play on in some crazy endless cycle in my head. How I should've said more, done more. It was like how you told me how you saved me every night after I died. If you would've just done something different, something more..." She reached over to take her hands in his, the tears she hadn't wanted to fall shining so brilliantly in her emerald eyes now. "But none of that matters, because if you're supposed to find someone again, you will. Dying doesn't really change that. Or, in our case, it _so_ doesn't change it. Emphasis on the so."

"Don't have to try and-"

"I know, I know. Healing from her injuries Buffy has become totally sappy Buffy even when she swore she wouldn't. Guess I haven't kept that under wraps as well as I thought I did."

"You're it for me. You know that?"

"Sit and watch the sunrise with me later on."

"Buffy-"

"Being human isn't all bad," she affirmed. "There's some stuff that's still very much of the good, and I want you to experience that. With me. Besides, you really would be a total ponce if you said no again."

"Bollocks," he muttered, sighing, his eyes directing themselves heavenward. "Even startin' to talk like me now."

"It's contagious."

His laughter was a low rumble. She found she still adored the sound of it. "Won't bleeding stop pestering me 'til I say yes, will you?"

"Nope."

Sunrise it is then. Be forever ingrained in my noggin once I switch back, anyway."

"It's something we were never allowed to have before. We have to take what we can get, while we can get it."

"If that's true, maybe you'd be up for a little..." He wiggled his eyebrows, unprepared for the hand that slapped his arm.

"Just because you're almost always _up_ these days, doesn't-"

"Should I be flattered or resent the implication that you think I now resemble every other bloke out there who's got himself a lady he wouldn't mind ravishing every day and night?"

"Shagging."

"Sorry?"

"You would see it as shagging."

"Making love, remember?"

"Making love," she reiterated.

"Spike?" They directed their concentration to the tiny plea that could be heard to their left as the little girl who seemed to resemble them both trudged over to the bed and crawled up onto it with no trouble at all, sitting herself cross-legged next to Buffy. She had an object concealed and pressed tightly against her chest, struggling a tad as she pulled it away to study it a moment, placing a kiss over the glass and leaving it in her lap. The former vampire recognized it as the same family orientated photo he'd taken from Joyce's desk several hours earlier. He knew then that his hunch had proved correct.

"What is it, sweet bit?"

"Could you read me a story?"

"Afraid I'm all out of books for that."

"You can make one up," Noelle persisted. "Buffy said you know all kinds of stuff. She said vampires have a lot of history."

"Oh, she did, did she?" he asserted, glancing at the slayer again. "Thought we'd reached an understanding about telling curious nibblets tall tales and mastering the art of improvisin'."

"This is the new Buffy, remember? I'm entirely open to it if you keep it to a G rating."

"Mind telling me exactly when this happened? Thought you'd be all too ready to engage yourself in the blame game."

"Make it nice and fluffy and I won't have to. You'll get my own little stamp of authenticity."

"Really should keep me in the bloody loop here." But he held out his hands, welcoming the child and watching as Noelle threw herself into his arms with gusto, still clutching the photo to her body. "What is it you fancy, pigeon? Dragons, castles, itty bitty princess locked in a tower before her daring knight climbs to her rescue?"

"What's a knight? Does it mean a prince who likes the dark?"

"That's k-n-i-g-h-t," he amended. "And no. Means a brave man dressed in the toughest, most impenetrable armor he can find as he rushes the drawbridge to make his way onto the grounds. Starts to close just as he takes a giant leap and he just barely slides through in the nick of it. Real hero, if there ever was one. Can't use his sword, 'cuz it's no match for the likes of something so big, so he has to use his strength and his cranium instead."

"Like a vampire."

"Well, no. A knight isn't rescuing the princess so he can bite her, pet, he's rescuing her so they can live happily ever after- which to me personally is bugger all in the grand scheme of it. See, it's never destined that they will, and more along the lines of those around 'em just taking a wild guess. An incredibly large assumption when they fail to factor in all of the arguments they'll have once they settle down and get a house together, prattling on as they discuss what bleeding color they'd like the walls."

"That's bad then."

"Not if he really loves her and loves with all his heart," Buffy spoke up, giving Spike what was far from the most acceptable of glares as she frowned, reticently mouthing something else that he couldn't quite discern.

"Could be the princess shouldn't get her knickers in a twist and always say her knight is at fault. He may prove himself a git sometimes, but he's really only lookin' out for her best interests. Doesn't have to bollix it all up."

"He doesn't," she proclaimed cheerfully, continuing. "But low and behold, he usually does."

"You think you can do better, Slayer, by all means, take your best shot."

She smiled. "Go on."

"Is Buffy your princess?" Noelle questioned then, looking from one to the other before squirming slightly in his lap. "Do you love her as much as my daddy loved my mommy?"

"More than anything," he replied. " 'Sides, you can't have perfect all the time, can you? Have to add in a bit of conflict to even things out. Reckon that's what love is all about."

"Did the knight ever find her?"

"He did, but he had a handful of goblins standing in the way of his prize. Creatures who hadn't been loved by anyone in over a century and didn't know what it was. An evil sorcerer had them stand guard and lie in wait for whoever managed to enter and surpass the hardships that awaited them outside. They were minions and they only had their master to live for. He fed 'em and gave 'em shelter. Made it so they'd have a roof over their heads. What they didn't realize was that they were under the thrall of a nasty spell. But they had no friends, no one to tell 'em what it was to know anything other than the bloody destruction they'd been sent to wreak."

"The knight knew, didn't he? He knew the castle was evil."

"He did and he'd come prepared. Had a witch he knew rid 'em of their curse and they let him pass. He was able to take the stairs to get to the princess, and promised himself he'd need to brush up on his sodding exercise if he ever needed to do this again. Luckily, the princess returned his declarations and let him carry her out, daring to lift his helmet to glimpse the face of the man who'd risked it all for her. She fell head over heels and they made lots of babies. End of story."

"Boys and girls?"

"Five boys, five girls."

"How many birdies did they need for that?"


	19. Chapter 18: Attestation

A/N: Thank you so much silveralana, Lauren, and Spuffygirl! :)

Chapter Eighteen: Attestation

_"A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence."_  
- David Hume

"We're meeting in alleys now?" Angel inquired, clearly more bored than annoyed by the latest development as he cautiously approached the shorter figure leaning his compact frame comfortably against the hard brick. "Has to be a step down for you."

"We could take a walk, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say it's wise to keep to the shade and out of that pesky sunlight. Trust me, it's better this way. Deserted, too. A little like the place I first found you. Must be the smell."

"Yeah, and if memory serves, you weren't exactly shy about crashing my new place of business earlier."

"What are you gonna do, bite me?" Whistler quipped. Plunging his hands deep within the pockets of his dark brown slacks, he merely shrugged, pushing himself up off the building and kicking an empty soda can with his right foot. "Besides, Blue isn't exactly pulling out all the stops to make nice. Bet she's a real good guard dog, though."

"This is where you'll probably tell me no one understands you again, right?"

"I did if I thought it might be what you'd like to hear."

"So how'd you do it?"

"Do what?" came the reply.

"Illyria thought you were mortal," Angel clarified. "She's usually pretty good about making that distinction. You corrected her and told her she was wrong."

"Because she was." He readjusted the hat he wore, pulling it lower over his brow. "It's not safe anymore. Figured you'd know that as well as I do. Rang in a favor and was able to mask my demon until I got inside to see you. To anyone else like me strolling around out there failing to mind their own, I'm just a helpless human. You got on the bad side of some pretty nasty guys. Your slayer's probably got it even worse now. They'll crush her with their bare hands if she doesn't play this just right."

"It's about that little girl," Angel supplied. "The seer."

"Noelle," Whistler put in. "And no. Wrong answer. Already told you everything we know about her."

"Yeah, and I'm not trying to destroy the world like I was before. I'm trying to save it. Wasting my time in filth and decay isn't going to change that. It'll just take away from what I need to do and when I need to do it. Whatever Willow did didn't take. She only sent one and Dawn's not even a slayer."

"No, but she got the message across loud and clear. All you needed was one."

Angel only closed his eyes and shook his head, a frown splaying itself across his face. "It wasn't a mistake, was it?"

"Wasn't about to admit that with your witch on the premises," Whistler filled him in. "She'd probably have my head if she knew. I really don't think anyone's in the mood to relive that rough patch she was going through after her one and only died. But hey, be my guest."

"Why?"

"World's still full of horrible things, big guy. Your work's already done. You got the pendant, didn't you? Gave it to the slayer's sister so she could get it to her in one piece."

"She needed to have it."

"Yeah, and it'll serve its purpose," the demon continued. "Not in the way you might think, but that fortune teller was right. It really isn't meant for you to control her fate. It would make you feel better knowing she's okay, but the best place for you right now is here. Those potential slayers would've only been casualties we can't afford. They wouldn't be prepared for something like this."

"It still doesn't explain why you let Dawn go without-"

"They'll teach her what she needs to survive there. But if you try opening that portal again you run the risk of compromising everything. See, the thing of it is, they don't need you. Not this time. She's got people willing to fight with her and for her, and that's all she really needs to beat it. She just has to bring them together on her own terms."

"Madame Florea wanted me to reverse that wish."

"Because she thinks it'll give Noelle a better future. But that's the one argument where she falls short. The kid's future depends on her remembering why and how she made that wish. She can't lose that, and Florea has a point about those that are already lost to them. Noelle won't be able to get her parents back. It doesn't mean she can't find another set. It also doesn't mean that other set won't educate her once we know she's fighting on our side."

"This is more for your benefit than theirs."

"It's not," Whistler insisted. "But even if it were, she's important to us."

"Fine, but I still need to get Buffy back."

"I think you're forgetting somebody, as your slayer's not the only one who hitched a ride."

"Whatever they're doing or already did over there isn't my concern anymore."

"And that's why you'll have to give her up," he stated somewhat wistfully. "I told her ages ago that in the end we're always by ourselves. Come to find out love is occasionally stronger than that and some of us get second chances. Hers just isn't with you. She may have made the decision to send you to the deepest darkest pits of despair when she had to and when it hurt her most to do it, but it's taken you until now to see what's really in front of you. How it's no longer the same."

"You're the one that showed me what she fought for, how she was called."

"She needed you then."

"And now it's him," he retorted. "Spike."

"He gets it on a level you can't reach," his guide tried. "She'll always have what you meant to her and it's not about trying to destroy that. You were her first love. What girl's gonna turn down the opportunity to keep that in her heart?"

"Not all of it was bad."

"Maybe, but we're prepared to offer him a choice. We're no Oracles, and he's already taken on part of the life of the deceased. Became what he wasn't able to before. But there's a catch in there somewhere. There's always a catch. It's not permanent, and under normal circumstances he'd be right back where he started and pretty much in the same boat you were when you sacrificed everything to set back the time you shared with your former squeeze and made her forget. A certain blonde vampire isn't so eager to toss it all away. He's able to grasp that concept more than you did. He wouldn't sign off on it if it meant he could have her. If it meant that she wanted him, too."

"I thought love was-"

"It's whatever you want it to be," Whistler interjected. "But you've seen that it's hardly without consequence."

"Yeah, and you may as well just be filling a vacancy left by cupid. I don't require a chaperon there. My focus is on bringing her back and making sure-"

"Again with the her," he chastised. "You have to fess up and face what's right in front of you. You're headed down a dangerous path here, and while it wouldn't be the first time, you can't ignore it and pretend it's all about the desire to do right. The past is never gone and it's not gonna disappear after you return her to this plane. You have to be honest with yourself here. Might be a good idea to let your witch in on some of that honesty, too."

"Willow doesn't have anything to do with-"

"Maybe not, but she was helping. She probably wouldn't mind lending you an ear. Think about it."

"I will," Angel acknowledged. "Oh, and remind me never to agree to one of these meetings again unless you actually have information I can use."

"Guess you'd just like to be left alone again, huh? Make matters worse than they already are because you can't get past your hatred?"

"Thought we were at least somewhere in the ballpark of friends here. Maybe that was my mistake."

"I always had difficulty getting through to you, too. Listen, the longer you wrestle with what you're gonna do, the harder it'll be to back away when you'll know you need to. You're more than halfway there already. Why not go for the other twenty-five percent?"

"I'll see you around," he muttered.

"No, you won't," Whistler admonished, grinning. "But just think about what I said. Give yourself the extra push if you need to, but think about it. You asked to learn from me once. Maybe it's time you try it again. For whatever it's worth, anyway."

"How much you think these are worth?" Spike queried, carefully studying the documents Wesley laid out in front of him, his blue eyes scouring the content with interest.

"I would presume they'd be priceless should they fall into the wrong hands," the other man clarified, hands on his hips as he proceeded to further survey the material scattered across the countertop.

"Safe to say they've already done that, mate."

"I concur. It would indicate the grandmother was attempting to keep them both safe and was prepared to seek outside assistance in terms of what she'd found. The tests, particularly the one that's supposed to monitor endurance, would've been incredibly trying on the human body. I can't imagine a child having to go through it, much less her mother."

"Slayers have that aspect of the demon in 'em. Might've enabled her to withstand it a bit more."

"Something in their plans had to have changed," he concluded. "If they allowed both the mother and father to be murdered and set their focus on the child, it would suggest an explanation to the contrary."

"Not necessarily."

"I don't understand."

"Well, when I spoke to the nibblet back at her place the other night after she scampered off, she told me she was half of mum and half of dad. Been so caught up in her havin' all that precognition, that I failed to see it from the other side of the fence. Could be that's what she got from her mum. Warrior might be equivalent to slayer. Already destined and chosen to be that one girl in all the sodding world. Anne's dead, and we don't have it on authority yet that another chit's been called elsewhere to take the reins. Maybe it's 'cuz she's already been called and she's right in front of us."

"Impossible," Wesley countered. "In all of my research I've never heard of a slayer being called so young. They typically only receive it after they've reached adolescence. Noelle is six years old, Mr. Spike. That's much too young to raise armies, much less master the art of self-defense. A small girl with that kind of strength wouldn't be able to properly use it."

"Could be she doesn't even know she has it. Dead scared when they came after her at her old flat and didn't try to defend herself. Only thing she was concerned about was gettin' her stuffed animal."

"Perhaps Buffy could talk to her. Get her to open up even more than she already has. It's imperative that we find out if what you've said has any truth to it, as I suspect we won't have much longer should they attempt another attack."

"Yeah, about that." Spike kept his line of vision trained on the documents as he spoke, reaching for the yellow highlighter to his left. "Buffy thinks we should make a point to reach out to the rest of 'em."

"I'm sorry, the rest of them?" Wesley repeated.

"The other survivors. You mentioned you stay separated. Trust you've got the locations where everyone's all holed up in that noggin of yours. May have to let us in on the specifics if we're gonna get a fair shot of coming out on top with this."

"Yes, but it would violate our agreement. Each of these locations do their part to ensure the city hasn't fallen completely, and to enlist their utmost generosity at a-"

"Well you're gonna have to do something. They're gettin' a little too desperate and we need to keep the bit from 'em best we can. From what I can tell, Joyce hit the jackpot here. It's the whole bleeding lot of it down on paper. I'd bet a fairly large amount of quid that whoever gave it to her was a former employee who became disillusioned by the work they were doing. Wanted to expose those bastards for what they were."

"We could be taking our lives into our hands all over again. They've likely stepped up their rounds after last night, and I won't be permitting either of the groups access until we know the route we normally patrol is safe."

"Won't be a problem in daylight. Most we'll encounter is our blokes in black. Silver might not kill 'em, but we chop their heads off and I wager it'll stop 'em right quick."

Wesley nodded. "If they're indeed half breeds as you say, Fred seems to think The Plague is oddly tolerant of them and may even respect them to a certain extent. It's why your elusive green demon who pulled Buffy into the portal wasn't immediately condemned for what he'd done. If anything, they may have even honored him for his bravery. Granted, it was easily all part of the child's wish, but there's a chance he's being hailed as a hero for bringing them another slayer."

Spike stacked the papers into a pile as he capped the highlighter and tossed it across them. "Can't take you up on your offer to track our unidentified bunch of wankers just yet, but I'd like to take the slayer out and pay a visit to one of the other hideaways. I think she's up for it and you're probably familiar with a few shortcuts to ward off any other nasties that could find us while The Plague settles in for a nap."

"I'm afraid I don't see how this is the best course of action for us to pursue when it could put more of us in danger."

"Thought that was the whole point to building reinforcements, Percy. Don't have as many fighters as you have thinkers, which makes us outnumbered there."

"I'll have a list of addresses for you soon, but I'd very much like if you'd determine whether or not we have another slayer living with us first."

Spike pushed up the sleeves to the navy sweater he wore, professing a quick shrug. "Said she's been havin' nightmares, right? Could be they'll develop into something more akin to what Buffy's got. Most of it's probably due to losin' her mum and dad, but dig a little deeper and you never know what you might come up with."

"Ah, yes. Dreams that foretell of future events that have yet to come to pass. As we've established she's been gifted with precognitive images, I would imagine what she sees while she sleeps will become all the more prevalent once her abilities firmly take hold. Still, it seems fairly logical she would've confided in someone here if she were experiencing anything of this nature."

"Didn't say a bleeding word to anyone when you first brought her here, did she? Why would she have said anything about special dreams she'd been gettin' if she didn't know what they mean?"

"According to the lore I've studied, it's not unheard of for her to have seen the lives of past slayers in her dreams as well."

"There's a s-spell," a soft voice brought forth as Tara entered the room holding a fairly weathered book in her arms, it's cover leather-bound and the pages a rather dull shade of yellow. "I didn't intend on overstepping my bounds in any way, but from what I've been told there's a w-way to tell whether or not a girl is or isn't a slayer, particularly if she's in the potential stage."

"Believe Red's used it a time or two over in our neck of the woods," Spike mused. "Feel like giving it a go?"

"We'd need fire," she explained, "and from what I can gather it's not the m-most pleasant smelling spell out there, so it may need to be done outdoors. It could be too dangerous to complete inside."

"Had they succeeded in their capture of her, I believe those men would've used whatever means they could to pull it out of her. Allow her powers to show themselves earlier than intended," Wesley vouched. "After reviewing those papers, their methods were hardly orthodox. They wouldn't have paid much mind to sparing her the pain. On the contrary, they actually appear to delight in causing it."

"When the spell is complete, it's supposed to surround her with a glowing aura," Tara went on. "B-but there could just be an easier way. Not easier in the sense that it would avoid causing her that pain you mentioned, although it's quicker than tricking her through magic and not abusing her trust."

"If I'm reading into this right, you're convinced that providing something along the lines of a simple cut will indicate whether or not she's been given the rapid healing that meets our criteria. Prove to us she is who we think she is."

"We could tell her it was an accident. If anything, though, I figured Buffy would've been able to sense it. B-being a slayer herself."

"Doesn't work like that," Spike supplied. "What's more, it's not like she was even lookin' for it. She feels a kind of connection, but she just assumed it was 'cuz of Noelle being her daughter here."

"Anne's daughter," she amended.

"Can't blame her for seeing what could've been, can you?"

"Of course not," Wesley agreed. "And normally I'd call upon Fred to initiate such a task, as she's certainly qualified. However, Noelle does seem to be privy to your way of thinking and I'd be willing to wait to see what you can do to convince her of what needs to be done."

"Even if she weren't," Tara added. "It's no reason to leave her out in the cold and stop p-protecting her. She's counting on us to do it. I never meant to cause any problems with the papers inside the coloring book. I just thought you should see what her grandmother probably died for and why we have to pretty much steer clear of the Senior Partners if they've g-got it bad for anyone who leans toward the supernatural."

"Anyone who can be bloody tested," Spike offered. "According to the fine print, they wouldn't have hesitated putting Buffy in a room with a member of The Plague. If all went well, they'd have the soldier they needed if she'd allow it to breed with her and give 'em a child." The very thought of it nauseated him beyond belief, and he couldn't hold back a rather visible wince on his part. "The Fyarl and the werewolf are strong together, but nowhere near what they hoped they'd be. They were workin' on rectifyin' that little problem with the silver 'cuz they know it makes 'em susceptible. Takes 'em out quicker than expected."

"But a slayer would give them the luxury of accelerated healing. Immunity," Wesley sufficed. "She's so much more than any half breeds who actually work for them. It goes along with what Fred said about the bites they inflict having no effect on someone who has a fraction of demon already in them, or perhaps did at some point. If they were to create a version of what they needed that was virtually unstoppable, they'd know there was plenty more where that came from, and they'd want to keep Buffy there as one of their crowning achievements."

"They'd have Angel eatin' in the palm of their hand, too. This whole exercise is one big sodding love letter to him, courtesy of the same men who provided this city with all of its beasties and tore it down from the very foundation it was built upon."

"We need to show them how strong we are," Tara complied. "We need to keep beating them back. Like we did last night."

"Angel," Wesley muttered. "The chap that initiated this whole mess when he upset these men in the Los Angeles you've come from. A decent portion of this is because of him, isn't it? A rash decision to subject a slayer to such a terrible outcome the way whoever's behind this at the helm so desires it, but in the long run we're really going to need this settled on a permanent basis."

"Our Wolfram and Hart could be seen by the naked eye," Spike sided. "Didn't have to only see it when they wanted you to. Angel ran it for a time or two. Tried to forget he was basically workin' for the enemy and thought he could do some real good there. Ended up gettin' on their last nerve anyway, and the day he actually got around to leavin' was the same day it started falling to the ground. They knew he'd just taken out the Black Thorn and they sent some of their best after us to do their worst. Lost some men out on the battlefield. Those of us who had the advantage weren't human and were able to scrape by on the skin of our teeth."

"I assume it's not something you'd want to relive," he corroborated. "Namely if you'll have to do it again under whatever branch has been sent up over here. Understand that I would never deliberately see cause to dredge up some awful memories on account of dealing with them more than I'd like myself. I'll admit I still don't know all there is to know about you, but I see no reason to discount your telling of it. It took a great deal of faith to put stock in your words, mind you, but I see now that you have a much clearer picture of what it is we're up against. Therefore, should you see fit to deploy more of us and make contact with the others, I'm willing to let any rules I've placed into effect slide just this once. We should find out what that girl is and it wouldn't hinder us to have a few more allies thrown into the mix, either."

"Slayer's convinced she can train these additional allies and prepare 'em for what's to come. She's definitely up for it, and I could see pitchin' in a tad there myself. Still have my strength and I'm not gonna waste it. May not be what I was anymore, but I can still think like one. Dawn might be able to assist us, too. She's familiar with the way of it and has some moves of her own that I'm sure she rarely gets to show on account of big sis never thinkin' she's fully ready for it. From what I hear, she handled herself just fine when we were fightin' The First and tryin' to put all of its insanely corrupt ideals into the bloody ground when it threatened the slayer line."

"Buffy informs me this was the same battle you gave your life for," Wesley stated.

"Died and everything. But it doesn't even compare to what my girl's been through or what she'll go through again. Likes to put others before herself, but I don't plan on losin' her after this one. Don't plan on losin' her ever again. Not when I love her like I do."

"Love is what's required to win such a war. If you lack the drive to see it and go through with doing what needs to be done, you haven't much left that'll push you into the final act to witness the very end of it."

"Not half bad when you get down to it, are you? Almost tolerable."

"He's been like that since I've known him," Tara affirmed, smiling.

"Talking that way will only make me blush," Wesley said quietly. "We need to get ahead of ourselves and determine who else is controlling this operation. I see the Partners at the forefront, but we need some kind of name for the men we encountered last night. It may be our other comrades that reside elsewhere know who they are and what their weaknesses entail. We've already pegged The Plague there and we should be able to handle it from this angle, too. Someone out there has something and we need to find who does."

"This mean you'd condone that trip to find it?"

"Yes, Mr. Spike. You've more than proven to me that we should do what we must to get there and get to the bottom of it. We're never in the business of turning on our own and if we're in the company of two slayers now, it's telling us we have an advantage they don't and we should use it."

"I'm still game girl," an excited tone proclaimed behind them.

Spike found himself grinning like a buffoon as he turned to her. "Shouldn't snoop in on private conversations, pet. Might spoil yourself for the whole bloody lot."

"Relax. I only heard the part about finding the others. In fact, I think you should take Dawn. She's been cooped up in here for awhile now with Noelle, and I think it's starting to drive her a little crazy."

"Thought she wasn't allowed the privilege."

"She wasn't allowed the privilege when she used to pass by your crypt for a visit or when she sneaked out and had you break into the magic shop looking for Giles' book. But she still went anyway, didn't she? She also went out of the way for a spell to try and bring Mom back, so it's safe to say a lot of what I tell her flies right over her head in favor of freedom and trying to be an adult. I know you'll make sure nothing happens to her and I could prove to be a little overaggressive if whoever we find doesn't want to cooperate."

He raised a brow. "Just a little, love?"

Placing a hand on either side of his shoulders, she reached over and gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Besides, we'll see each other tonight and you can tell me all about it."

"We have knives available that are small enough to conceal," Wesley volunteered. "I'll find a couple of them for you. Buffy can speak with Noelle."

"Okay, what am I speaking to Noelle about?" she asked somewhat quietly as soon as he'd departed. Tara immediately went after him, assuring him in her way that she could be of some help in getting it all organized. Buffy's pretty face stopped watching them and simply spiraled into outright confusion.

"Didn't snoop with that part, did you?"

"No, see, some of us were incredibly busy trying to entertain her after Anya kept refusing to play with her anymore. I've already been involved in three rounds of hide and seek."

"She touch the books yet?"

Buffy sighed. "No. She, um, said those were Grammy Joyce's and she misses her. I know we've only been speculating on this, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her there's a high probability she's lost her grandmother in the shuffle, too. If the way she is about her parents is any indication, I think it'll be best if we just wait to see if we find anything else. What was in the documents?"

"Forget the documents for now. They're not- look, we've got something bigger. Something else."

She walked to the countertop and propped herself up onto it, regarding him with a brief frown as she began to swing her legs back and forth. "A good something else or a really bad something else?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

"You're supposed to be in total share mode here."

"Bugger it." He went up to her, placing a hand on each of her kneecaps as he let out a breath he'd been holding. "The price for the chit just went up if what Percy and I surmised is true. Could be a shot in the dark, and I'm all for lettin' it be nothing more than that. Makes it less of a hassle for us. We took a leap and assumed that a warrior is another word for a slayer here. Tara was the one who got us all thinkin' about it, and from what I hear, Anya wasn't really on board. Can see why, too, 'cuz a warrior could mean something in the way of sodding magic. Thought you might be the one to sit Noelle down and ask her about it."

"But you guys are leaning toward slayer for her."

"Said something's been drawing you to her, right? Aside from us resemblin' William and Anne, what else could there be? Neither of us has a gift for seeing like she does."

"She only six, Spike. If it's- how do you even train someone that young? That small? I can't even see her fighting vamps with a stake in a cemetery. She wouldn't even be able to hold it in her hand."

"Buffy-"

"It's not even like the Anointed One, because he was a lot more dangerous than he looked. One teensy weensy girl isn't gonna make any of the usual baddies out there fear her. They'd laugh at her instead. Poor, defenseless kid who thinks she's all powerful and is supposed to save and protect the world from monsters too big for her to even comprehend."

He tilted his head at her. "Sounds an awful lot like you your bleeding first time out, doesn't it?"

"I was taller," she objected.

"But not by much."

The slap he felt slide across his arm didn't dissuade him. "Not funny."

"You were just like her once upon a time. Older, but not wiser. Nowhere near as prepared as you should've been. Had no previous experience in the way of it. It'd be easy enough to have Glinda bind whatever she's got 'til her fifteenth birthday to keep her out of harm's way, but you'd also be taking away the special sight and she'll need that in a place like this. Can't deny she wouldn't. Nothing's like it is by us. We've got trouble to contend with, but not of this magnitude. She can't even wish it away 'cuz it was like this before she asked for mum and dad back. Most we can do is show her we're there for her."

"You've really matured so much these days," she whispered, as she flitted her fingertips across one impossibly sharp cheekbone. "Haven't you?"

"Wouldn't be right if I tried to deny that I owe most of that to you. Set me right."

"Yeah, but the soul was all you. You were always vague about what you went through with that, and I'd...well, I'd like to know. You mentioned the torture and the suffering you endured, but you never said what they made you do."

He touched his lips to hers. "Don't want to. You wouldn't be able to stomach it."

"Hello, did we forget how this discussion started out with slayers? There's not much in the way of serious grossness that would shock me here. I could take anything you throw at me."

"Right then, except now isn't the time."

"Spike-"

"Maybe later, yeah? I've got a nibblet to take on patrol to meet whoever else resides in Mister Roger's terrorized neighborhood, and you've got to get chatty with Noelle."

"What if she doesn't care about getting _chatty_ with me? She seems to take to you more, and if-"

"You underestimate yourself. Likes you just fine. Have to know that."

"I'll do what I can," she managed. "I can't promise a full signed confession, but we'll see if we can work through it."

"Just what I like to hear."

"Oh, and if you let Dawn wander off out there-"

"Won't," he promised. "Can't. Not when I'd get your wrath the minute I set my foot in the door."

"Looks like phase one of our plan could be complete by the end of the day then."

"God willing. I just hope they'll agree to a single location for each and every blooming one of us."

"If we're lucky."

"Yeah, could sure use more of that."


	20. Chapter 19: Convocation

A/N: Thank you very much TheBlueDragonWolf and Spuffygirl!

Chapter Nineteen: Convocation

_"We must, indeed, all hang together, or most assuredly, we shall all hang separately."_  
- Benjamin Franklin

"So, anything new on the home front?"

Spike turned and stared at the young girl who walked alongside him, brown hair spilling over her shoulders and a hopeful smile plastered across her pretty face. They'd left the warehouse approximately fifteen minutes ago and not a word had been shared and spoken between them, the former Key likely surprised beyond belief that big sis had decided to forego the strictest of rules and allow her to tag along in a potential demon fighting capacity.

His blue eyes resuming their trek straight ahead, he only sighed, grinding his teeth as his fingers contemplated the remaining cigarettes nestled in the pack within his pocket. "If it's any consolation, pet, you really should work on the concept of subtlety."

"Sorry," Dawn mumbled, shrugging. "I guess I'm still kind of trying to get over the part where you're both human and she hasn't taken the opportunity to jump on it that yet. I mean _really_ jump on it. The tension and the history. It's big, and that's supposed to be good. But you're here and she's here and it's like she's too scared to even try again."

"Try what...exactly?"

"Being with you," she filled him in. "In a capacity that's anything resembling the romance variety."

"We've kissed, nibblet. Promotes as much bloody togetherness as-"

"Yeah, but it amazes me that it's _all_ she's done."

"Here I thought you'd be grabbin' your pom-pom's and lettin' your cheers be heard the world over for the other sodding team."

"Other team?"

"Angel," the former vampire muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Well, that takes care of the insecurity question, doesn't it?" Dawn keenly observed.

"You'll stop analyzing me if you know what's good for you. It's not what we came out here for anyhow, and if you think I'm gonna spend one more wakin' moment attempting to defend myself to the likes of you, I'm afraid you're got another thing coming."

"Why do you do that?"

"Bollocks." He came to a halt, conscious of just how much time they were already wasting, but somehow managing to not care. She reminded him a lot of a certain woman who already had him by the short hairs, and he almost wondered if being this bleeding forward had always been something that ran in their family. A stubborn streak that even Joyce had appeared to possess a great deal of when the occasion arose to express it. "Do what?"

"Put it off like it's nothing. You don't need to be brave with me, Spike."

"That what you think I'm doing?" he returned, clearly amused. "Being brave?"

"I know that she really loves you," she interjected, holding up a hand as he tried to intercede on his own behalf. "She may not have said it yet since you've been back, but she does. I can see it in her eyes whenever she talks about you, looks at you, and trust me when I say that sisters are basically experts on this kind of thing."

"That right?"

"It is."

"_Yeah_," he echoed, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Too bad you couldn't be more wrong with your psychology experiment."

"It's not an experiment, and you can't know for sure if she-"

"Buffy and I may have found a certain level of understanding here, sweet bit, and she's free to deny it all she damn well pleases, but come the day we're sent back and this whole shoddy little show is at an end, it'll be time to quit pretending and fess up, won't it?"

"You've already convinced yourself she'll go back to him. Want to be with him."

"It's not a question of if, it's just a question of when."

"Well, it would be if she were pretending," Dawn offered. "She's not, though."

"Say I give her the buggering benefit of the doubt. Actually been doing just that since we got here, in point of fact, but she hasn't always been that forthcoming about what's bothering her. God knows I don't have Noelle's gift of mind readin', so it doesn't really leave me any place to bloody go now, does it?"

"You could try asking."

"Oh, like the day the world was falling down and she said it to me as I was about to burn?"

"Look, I know I'll probably never get everything that happened between you guys, but you can't give up on her."

"Wasn't planning on it, nibblet."

"And yeah, Angel's cool and stuff, but he's not you. I was happy at first that he took such a huge step to make sure she was okay when he stopped by the apartment before, but after learning you were with him and actually back, as in...back in the flesh back, you'd have to be an idiot if you don't think she'd choose you."

"That why you stepped on my foot and scolded me when you got here?"

"It just bugged me that you kept it from us."

He sighed, saying nothing as he shoved the paper Wesley had given them into her grasp. "Mind taking a gander at that and telling me if we're in the right spot?"

She squinted as she allowed her eyes to roam over the chicken scratches. "Hasn't he ever heard of printing?"

"Bet he hasn't heard of a lot of things," Spike quipped. "But the numbers seem to match, at any rate, so guess we'll have to give it a go."

"The numbers are definitely the same," Dawn acknowledged, "but he never said it was like somebody ran through it with a bulldozer more than once. You can't honestly tell me anyone lives there."

"Possible it's below ground then," he concluded. "Only one way to find out."

"Then shouldn't he have just said that?"

"Think he was still rattled by the tiny chit being both a slayer and a seer."

"I was pretty young when I was a blob of energy in disguise," she informed him. "She'll get used to it."

"Not really that simple, love. She's only six and both gifts are a tad too permanent for her to return 'em or even contemplate tryin' to shake 'em. They'll be with her as long as she's alive."

"Nobody ever said life wasn't complicated."

"Amen to that." He fished a flashlight out of his pocket, and flipped it on as they hesitantly ventured somewhat closer to the property that lay sprawled out before them in its familiar dilapidated state that mirrored the rest of the buildings that surrounded it. A broken city that had fallen to its knees without much hope to prosper in. "Wait here. I'll go first."

"Like hell," she protested.

He raised a brow as he turned to her, a frown evident as it splayed itself across his beautiful face. "Buffy told you to mind me when we're out and about and I'm not catchin' the brunt of it if something should happen to you. You'll do as I say or we'll take you right back to that bleeding warehouse. We have an agreement here?"

"They're just regular people, Spike."

He nearly laughed. "Yeah, well, regular people can cause quite a stir if they've got no good left in 'em anymore or someone pushes 'em a bit too far off the totem pole. Evil's not limited to beasties who go bump in the night. You've got your card carryin' murderers, members of the torture committee. The sodding grandmum down the street could be baking someone in her oven just so she can grab a bite. Ever hear the tale of Hansel and Gretel?"

"That was a witch."

"Wager there's an old biddy or two who doesn't have to be a witch to do the exact same thing."

"Let me go in ahead of you," she tried again. "C'mon, you'll be right behind me."

"One of 'em grabs you and I might not be quick enough."

"Buffy would-"

"No, she bloody well would not."

"You're not my father."

"Not your father," he repeated. "Though I suspect when it comes down to it I care more about your well-being than he does these days, which is why I don't think I have to tell you again to mind me."

She crossed her arms over her chest and stomped her right foot. "Fine. Go."

Without waiting for further retaliation from the teenager, he advanced ahead of her, directing the flashlight into his line of vision as it flooded an interior cluttered with rubble and cardboard boxes. The boxes had brands of food imprinted upon them, and although his initial take had leaned toward grocery store, the thought that some of the survivors here had possibly brought them back from God knows sodding where also occurred to him too. They could've just as easily been grabbed from a random house in an attic and used to transport clothes or other belongings in. He recalled Fred mentioning how a member of their group had been chosen to risk gathering supplies, and Spike couldn't help but wonder if this bunch had implemented the same sodding system into their daily routine. If anything, they'd raided a supermarket within the city itself before The Plague had caught onto the comings and goings and seen the pattern for what it was. What he was unable to get a handle on, however, was how the hybrids had failed to track the scent back here. "Didn't say you couldn't follow me, though, did I?" he called back to her.

"But I thought-"

"You want in or not? Can't really fathom leavin' you out there for something to nibble on."

She eagerly complied, and together they made their way across the abandoned space, careful to pay close attention to the scatter of debris below as the flashlight continued to guide them with its narrow sliver of light, its beam a shining beacon amongst the darkness that had enveloped them inside. "It doesn't seem like anyone's been here in years."

He tilted his head as he regarded her with a quick smirk. "Probably the idea."

"Huh?"

"Something tells me the chaos up here is more or less deliberate in the way it misleads. Have to make The Plague and our men in black believe no one's around for 'em to rattle."

"Or devour," she remarked, entirely serious.

"Our resident pack of nasties usually just rip those that have found themselves in an unfortunate position to shreds, pet. Don't think I'd go so far as to say they're cannibals."

"Yuck. Won't be entertaining a visual on that one."

"Don't blame you." Spike knelt down near the far wall, inspecting the way the mess they'd been shuffling through had almost thinned out and wasn't nearly as prevalent in the remainder of the room. Gently rapping his knuckles across the wood below, the sound that echoed in the emptiness was strangely hollow, prompting him to search for some kind of lever to edge it open. He imagined whoever had designed and spent their waking hours crafting the sodding invention had put a tremendous amount of blood, sweat and tears into it, praying it worked like a charm against outside intruders- of which he and Dawn fit the description a little too well at the moment.

"Maybe they have a secret knock," she suggested.

"Secret knock?"

"Yeah, or a handshake for all those societies. There could be a password, too. Like when one of them has to come up and get things."

"Right," he murmured, " 'cuz that just _must_ be it."

"Do you have a better theory?" she challenged.

"I'm interested in why Percy told us they never revealed their locations, yet he gives 'em all up in a heartbeat like he's had the blooming information for ages. Even told him it was all stored in his head, and it turns out to be more or less accurate. Had it all along. Made it his business to find out in spite of the whole...privacy act, didn't he? Probably had some of his own track 'em, see where they ended up. Whatever this so-called pact was that they developed between 'em was just a ruse. They all play along, as it's what they do best. Then they wonder why it's so hard to maintain the trust."

"He'd never intentionally lead us into a trap, though, would he?" Dawn asked. "I...I mean I didn't know a lot about the other Wesley in our world, but it doesn't sound like him. The one over here was actually really nice to me."

"Ever heard of killing with kindness?"

"Spike."

"Of course, there's a lot to be said for that Fred bird and all she's done for us so far. Don't know why she fancies that ponce like she does. Apparently it's beyond my scope of bloody reason."

"Behind you," she stated simply.

Somewhat preoccupied with the task of trying to find an entrance in the floorboards, he ran his hands along the more weathered half, clenching his jaw out of disappointment. "What's that you're on about?"

"A man," Dawn whispered, her stance growing rigid as she advanced a single step back. "Behind you."

Spike sensed the movement of the gun angling towards him before he saw it, and although it could've easily been viewed as a perfectly human reaction in the grand scheme of it, he was left speculating whether what had become of him when he'd initially found himself on this plane was starting to wear thin. He may have retained enhanced abilities as a mortal man, but something was starting to feel off. It was without cause for explanation, because there really wasn't one to justify what was happening. Not even if he'd brought it all on himself with the tensions running high the way they had been. Something had triggered the response, but he realized he couldn't afford a distraction when he was expected to protect the girl who'd tagged along with him.

To be more precise, the younger sister of a slayer he was crazy about.

Not bothering with a reply, he struck out with his fist and plowed it directly into the face of the assailant, propelling himself to his feet as he attempted to get a good look at whomever had tried to get the drop on him a second time since finding himself in such a sodding broken dimension.

"Whoa, Sparky, ease up!" Wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, the familiar face blatantly professed a wince. "Just wanted to see if you were playing ball for the ghouls on the other side or not."

"Figured it was pretty obvious we're not," Spike clarified. "Or did you and yours suddenly forget what an actual person looks like?"

"Well, you fell for the trick trap door, for one. Those monster guys are so dense it gets them each and every time. Not that we're complaining, because we're thinning out a little in the weapons department. Emptied a few rounds on an entire herd of them last night. It barely slowed them down and we lost three of our own."

"How many have you got?"

"It's just me now," he tried, doing his best to sluff it off despite the small amount of sadness tainting his voice. "Warren Mears."

"According to the paperwork," Spike pressed, "there are supposed to be at least eight of you."

"What paperwork, dude? We haven't had that many here since the accident."

"The accident."

"Yeah. One of them, uh, managed to make it past the extra precautions we took. Took out four of our guys without breaking a sweat." Warren tossed his gun to the floor, the gesture indicating that it was possible it wasn't even loaded and his claim about the weaponry was dead on. "In a nutshell? It basically tore them limb from limb with a lot of blood and guts thrown into the mix. See, you can do what you want to help, but you're never any match for them. Can't hope to be on equal footing with the power they've got. All you can do is pray for a miracle."

"Take it you've never heard of silver bullets."

"What, you mean like for a werewolf? These things are way too ugly to be one of those, right?"

"Assume no one's told you then?"

"No, but it's not like it's unheard of, okay? We don't make it a point to socialize around here when they've been converting them the way they have."

"Converting?"

"Making some of _us_ one of _them_," he emphasized. "You become half of some creature. Nothing as drastic as a werewolf, but those that leave the nest to follow their cause are brainwashed. They convince them there's nothing to fight for in the way of good anymore. I've even resorted to robots just to spite them."

"Robots," Dawn repeated. "Gee, why do I get the feeling this world is a lot more like our own than we thought?"

"Probably 'cuz it is," Spike affirmed, his gaze still set on Warren. "Did your best to build an army, did you?"

"Depends on how you look at it."

"Not sure I understand you there, mate."

Warren sighed. "I meddled in something I should've left alone, because the only thing I did in creating them was provide the other side with the technology they needed to create their own. I've always had the education to compensate for it and on some level I actually consider myself the equivalent of a genius in these parts. But that's all that was left after they got done and somehow managed to confiscate everything. Parts."

"Haven't made much of an effort to move on then, have you?"

"We aren't- look, there was an agreement and it was violated. _I_ was violated."

"Gathered that already. Still can't see the harm in coming with us, though. You've made it painfully clear there's nothing here for you anymore. We've got more than enough supplies to take you in, and seeing as you've earned your badge in nerd, maybe your take on an army could be worth a go with a little something extra thrown in to toughen 'em up."

"What, the robots?" Warren laughed, hands on his hips. "Chances are, they've already got us beat there too. They just haven't shown themselves to us yet. We need real people to take them on. Robots make a good decoy, but it's not difficult to disassemble one. These other things are twice what they are, though. They're trained."

"They're also an experiment."

"An experiment that should've never made it past the final stages. Hey, if the only reason you're here is to ask me to join you, forget it. I don't form alliances. Not anymore. The only thing most of us can do now is die a peaceful death. It's what they want until they've wiped out this city and drive on over to another one. It doesn't just stop here. Whoever's been doing this has big plans. Plans that don't include guys like us because we don't fit into it the way they want us to."

"Can't bloody force you then, can I?"

"One more won't make an impact," he said indifferently, his countenance expressionless. "I'll be staying right here."

"Right then. Well, guess we'll just have to chalk this up to a simple case of disparity and be on our merry way."

"So who are you guys, anyway? Word was no one else had dared to go this far beyond the prison walls. Must be dire out there if you were willing to compromise my little hideout."

"Not really from here to begin with," Spike volunteered. "Hitched a ride on a portal against our will. I'm Spike, and this is Dawn."

"Pleasure, but if you'll excuse me, it's time to make myself scarce. I'm out for me and mine now. Adios." Typing in some sort of code upon a keypad that was barely visible to his left, a hatch pried itself open a short distance away, not all that far from the original flap they'd discovered. Shoving himself down into it, it closed as quickly as it had opened, shrouding them in silence all over again.

"Looks like this was another bust," Dawn told him.

"Would appear that way, wouldn't it? Best get back and report our findings to the big man."

"There aren't a lot of us left anymore," she brought forth, her voice barely audible. "If what Warren said is true about the stuff with them stealing his blueprints and everything, there's more of them than there are of us. But we could also factor him being a lying dirtbag into it, too."

"Get the feeling this one's just a coward and not a killer," he supplied. "More placid, too. Thought if he hid behind his inventions, they'd all be safe as houses. Turns out havin' brain smarts did nothing more than make him regret gettin' a patent on his bleeding bots."

"And now the rest of his team is dead."

"Didn't have a slayer now, did they?"

"No, but we can't leave this all up to Buffy."

"We won't," he added as he bent down to retrieve an object from the mess at his feet, dusting off the bulk of it with the sleeve of his sweater. "Help every step of the way, won't we?"

"What's that?"

Spike grasped it between his left thumb, middle and index fingers, trailing the glow from his flashlight over it. It was a miniscule snow globe, the image contained within its circular glass borders depicting an untainted picture of Los Angeles. One they were both much more acquainted with than the sad state to which this one had succumbed and in due course numbed itself to under pressure. Buildings that had once stood proud and tall lived on inside the tiny space, longing to reclaim the greatness that had been stripped away from them. The navy colored base that supported it contained the words 'City of Angels' in white print. "Looks to be one of those itty bitty knick-knacks that sit on shelves and collect dust."

"Someone must've liked it enough to buy it, though."

"Yeah, and right now I can see it giving us some hope. What we need most, time like this."

"Is that what you think they really want?"

He handed her the item and watched as she twirled it around to inspect the intricate craftsmanship before placing it in his hand again. "Bloke that lives here doesn't. Fresh out."

"Noelle has some. Even after what Buffy said was taken away from her, she has it."

He grinned. "Would've made a nice aunt, pigeon."

"And you might've made a decent dad. Well, minus the smoking and lewd gestures."

"Advise you to bite your tongue there," he warned. "Girl's not mine to keep."

"We should probably get back and let them know about this," she proclaimed, promptly changing the subject to prevent further uncomfortableness.

"Percy will probably rub it in my face good and proper after this. Lecture me again on why it's not in our nature to reunite for a sodding game of Bingo with our allies. His precious antidote's already a thousand times removed. Only thing left now is to get a bead on where Wolfram and Hart have been hiding their party arrangements for us."

"Kind of sucks that we have to deal with them over here, too."

"No argument there."

He let her walk on ahead of him as they exited the building, emerging into daylight once again, but it was gradually growing dimmer as the day waned and prepared to forfeit its light in order to embrace the dark. Spike figured they still had a couple of hours left before that happened, and rather than tackle the remaining address that Wesley had scrawled onto the piece of paper, he took it and crumpled it up in his hand before tossing it back into the pile of debris. It was, if anything, a lost cause. Buffy could train until her arms and legs grew tired and she collapsed from the exertion of it all. The problem here was finding their own group of willing soldiers who'd be willing to take her on and learn from her. They just didn't have enough offers there.

When he saw the fear come into Dawn's blue eyes as they widened and her mouth opened to form a scream, he was seconds too late in reacting as a pair of hands clamped onto the sweater at his back and threw him several feet into the air, his body landing with an incredibly loud thud as it roughly struck the jagged pavement below, nearly shattering his jaw and left cheekbone. He felt the bone in his right arm crack even as his kneecaps struck solid rock, slicing each of them wide open. Two hybrids stood over him, their growls menacing as they lifted him up, dragging him on either side while they held him firmly at bay. A figure clothed in black trailed after them and approached rather cautiously, but with what apparently was a clear purpose.

"Run!" he shouted to Dawn.

She spotted two more men advancing toward her, her heart racing a mile a minute. "Spike-"

"Go!" he urged. "Don't stop 'til you get to the warehouse."

"I can't just leave you here."

"You can," he confirmed, cringing as his captors tightened their grip on him, the movement becoming impossible to ignore as it wreaked havoc on his injured arm. "Get one of the others. They'll come for me if I don't make it back. Go, nibblet. _Run_."

She vigorously nodded, lamenting her decision only briefly before she took off, both men sprinting after her and exceedingly determined to close in. Spike didn't have to berate himself over whether or not she'd gained an advantage. She was capable if the situation called for it, and right now, it was calling for it.

"Keep him steady."

Growling to comply with the order, the fiends strengthened their hold. He could only watch as the half breed in dark clothing retrieved a syringe from the pocket of his slacks and crept closer to him, his profile indecipherable as he reached his destination and rolled up the sleeve to the blonde's sweater. Any efforts Spike made to struggle were quickly met with resistance as The Plague were nearly on the verge of cutting off his circulation altogether. In all his years as a creature of the night, he never would've dreamed he could've actually valued such a trivial thing as he adapted to life as a human. He gritted his teeth and shut his lids as he felt the needle delicately pierce his skin, the foreign substance coursing slowly through his veins.

They released him then as he toppled back to the ruins below, his wounded body hurtling itself into the wreckage. "You have no rights here," the man spoke, the voice the same one that had cornered him when he'd been patrolling with Gunn, Buffy and Jesse the previous night. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't have afforded you this luxury. Their leader has passed and those I answer to are getting awfully desperate. That said, we'll be in touch." He motioned to the two beings who appeared to have been awaiting instruction from him, a smile troubling his lips. "Let's go."

Spike's breathing became less ragged and more subdued, unable to stop himself from the groan that turned into a snarl as he literally felt his heart stop, his fingertips digging themselves into the dirt below as he felt his vampire visage scrambling to the surface. It was something he knew well. Something he'd done countless times over the years to feed and defend himself, vying for survival with a thirst for blood that always had to be adequately quenched.

It was different now.

He could feel his soul, but he wasn't burning up. Night hadn't yet closed in completely, and the remaining speck of sun that peeked out over the clouds above him wasn't taking extreme pleasure in setting him ablaze like a crispy critter. Whatever it was hadn't even wiped his memories, but had instead sharpened them and magnified them to the fullest, ensuring a more pronounced, more alert status of the demon within him. A demon who'd returned and reclaimed the void he'd thought to be lost when he'd entered through the portal with Buffy. His knees were already beginning the healing process, and the bones in his arm were mending themselves at approximately the same rate, already on the path to redemption. Spitting out blood, he managed to lift himself to his feet as he sought the control he so badly needed, immediately reverting to his human face.

For whatever reason, he was able to withstand the rays above him. It wasn't something he could even attempt to form a sufficient enough answer to- let alone one that proved itself entirely plausible and didn't careen into the realm of utter insanity. He thought of Dawn and wondered if she'd been able to outmaneuver the men who'd given chase. Men he was sure now were half demon and shared their body with a similar entity that he shared with his. The footsteps he heard a mere few feet away did little to comfort him as to what he might find, and as he inched forward and turned towards them, he found his ability to smell had increased tenfold with whatever they'd given him. "Dawn."

"I hid." There was a small bruise spreading over the length of her chin where he surmised she must've taken a nasty spill in trying to escape and evade. "I don't think they're vampires because they couldn't-"

"Smell you," he finished. "For the record, they're not."

"That answers that then."

"Whatever the bloody hell they are, it's more about strength than anything else. That, and a pile of threats that fall on deaf ears and were nothing like I pegged 'em. Agenda hasn't changed, though."

"Are you okay? Not that you look it, but I thought that..."

"Balls."

"Spike-"

"Thought I told you to stay gone and run," he snapped, suddenly furious with her. "Shouldn't have come back."

"I had to. Besides, Buffy would've yelled at me really loud if I didn't and I'm not really prepared for it in this dimension, either."

"Would've had every right to be incredibly brassed off."

"She'll probably be _more_ brassed off once she sees what you did to yourself."

He raised a brow. "What _I_ did? Buggers stuck something in me and made me what I was again."

"I was talking about the blood loss," she insisted.

"Not an issue anymore."

"So you're a vampire again?" she squeaked. "Seriously?"

"Looks like. Honestly couldn't have seen it coming."

"But it's day and you're not a pile of ash."

"Which is why we have to find out what they did to me."

"You'll have to tell her, you know," Dawn admonished.

"She's a slayer, love. A slayer doesn't require a handbook to suss out a vamp. She'll pick up on it as soon as I walk through the bleeding door."

"True."

"Best we can settle for is havin' Fred determine what's going on inside me and why they did it."

"Well, you're undead and not completely dead, so you can feel better about that at least, right?"

"Not very helpful, little bit."

She chuckled as she took his uninjured arm and draped it over her shoulders, doing what she could to support him. "Did I say I was trying to help?"

"Sod off then."

"Boy, I guess former humans get extra cranky once they're bloodthirsty animals again."


	21. Chapter 20: Diagnosis

A/N: Thank you mom8828, DeceptiveFates and Lauren. :)

Chapter Twenty: Diagnosis

_"In diagnosis think of the easy first."_  
- Martin H. Fischer

"As much as I'd like to help, I don't know if I'll be able to determine anything from your blood outside of your current state," Fred Burkle stated quietly as she labeled the sample for further analysis. "It's been physically compromised and altered in its composition now, and we've already tested both you and Buffy for infection and came up negative. If whatever they gave you was mixed with The Plague, it wouldn't show any noticeable difference, especially if you already have demon present in you again. I just haven't been able to isolate a causative agent. The fact that you're a vampire who can withstand sunlight could simply be one of the added perks, although I'm not clear on why they'd want to do that to you if it only gives us another advantage over them. Then again, it could be something else entirely. Something which has yet to take effect, which I wouldn't be able to draw any conclusions from yet and would have to do additional research."

"Something else entirely," Spike repeated, rolling his eyes. "Well, that really narrows it down, doesn't it?"

"You feel okay, right? Aside from being turned again, you seem to still be you."

"Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary at all. Well, except that minor craving for blood which we're all known for. But aside from that..."

"Oh. Right. Vampires and blood do kind of go hand in hand, don't they?"

"They do, though I don't wager you have a butcher shop that's currently offering a creature of the night special around these parts for someone like me."

"Maybe that was their whole point," she professed somewhat quietly as she moved to straighten up the countertop, a handful of plates still remaining from dinner several hours earlier. She shuffled them into her arms before depositing them into the sink. "Maybe it's really that easy."

He tilted his head. "Care to let me in on this theory of yours, pet?"

"Look, I don't always have all of the answers, and I'm fully admitting that I'm stumped here, but what if that was why they turned you again? I mean we've never really concerned ourselves with much besides The Plague and we don't make it our business to keep pints of blood in the fridge. I can only imagine how Wesley will take this recent development once I tell him. It could be that you having a soul will prevent the whole overreaction thing for him, but he did warn you about not finding the others, and-"

"Gave up after one address," he reminded her.

"But you really should've listened. Then again, he also wrote down that information of his own free will and who am I to judge if he was prepared to give up those locations, anyway? I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's plausible our mystery men think you'll resort to harming us inside the warehouse when you can't get your fix."

It made sense. Every single iota of what she was telling him made perfect sense. Once he became so overcome with guilt at refusing to take the blood of those he'd come to be acquainted with after he and Buffy had come through the portal, daylight wouldn't do the trick if he gave into the nagging urge to end it all after opting out of a slow and painful death as he turned into a living skeleton. "Bugger it."

"You'll need to feed," Fred emphasized. "It's not something that'll go away and we'll need to- it'll be days before we can get someone to go for supplies again. What's more, they'll know you need it and they'll do what they can to prevent us from getting it. Whoever we pick from our group might not even make it out of the city."

"Can put it off for a bit longer," he assured her.

"How _much_ longer? I'm not really up to speed on the typical feeding pattern for your kind, but if the need gets strong enough you might not be able to suppress it."

"Soul would prevent that. I'm not saying the ache won't still be there, but I wouldn't use force to get the job done. Don't have to keep your guard up."

"I'm not afraid," she insisted, shaking her head. "But I do worry about Noelle. She hasn't seen you like this before, and things could prove more than a little chaotic when she does."

"The little bit already knew I was a vampire before I came here. Doubt she'll try and slay me with a miniature stake."

"Did this half demon tell you anything? Anything that could possibly help us with whatever we'll be fighting?" she tried.

"He said that I wasn't permitted to be here and that if it were up to him, he would've remedied that problem all by his lonesome. From what I could take from the basic gist of it, The Plague's leader died from the wounds I inflicted on him back at Anne and William's place, and whoever he answers to is not in the business of being tolerant. Wanker then claimed we'd be in touch. Guess he has some bloody high hopes there."

Fred braced her hands against the counter as she leaned her back into it, her lips pursed as she listened. "It's interesting, isn't it?"

"Interesting?" he queried, a brow winging up.

"I think they might be trying to take us out one by one," she suggested. "The Plague usually always has some kind of agenda in mind and they had an opportunity to rip you to pieces last night. But instead they just made sure you reverted back to what you used to be. It's how you were in your world minus the not exploding into flames issue that seems to be amiss. I get the impression it's personal now, and in a way we didn't factor into all of this. You've also got them taking out this Warren guy's group while they stole the technology you said he'd been trying to perfect. With the robots."

"Wouldn't give Warren much credit," Spike professed, waving a hand in front of him as if to dismiss it altogether. "Ponce likes to talk real loud and proud, but he's not our concern anymore. He'll be in his hidey hole when the worst of it passes through, and probably won't show up again 'til it's all over and done with. Don't need him."

She smiled. "You better go wash up and get a change of clothes on you. I put some fresh towels in the bathroom before you two got back, so there should be plenty there. I'm betting Dawn's already finished in there."

"And Buffy?"

"Last I checked, she'd settled down with Noelle for a nap."

"Right then." Making his way up the stairs, he found the compact space in a matter of seconds, grimacing when he recalled that it was the same one in which the bloody door wouldn't lock. Spike almost wished he could use a chair to obstruct its path so nobody would walk in on him unannounced and catch him in a rather compromising position. The funny thing was, modesty had nothing to do with it. He was just fine traipsing around without a stitch on, and under normal circumstances would've done just that if he was in the company of his own home stocked to the brim with beer and blood. It also befell him that he could smoke whenever the hell he damn well pleased again and didn't have worry about any kind of impending health issues in the process. Being a vampire had always given him that immense kind of freedom to abuse vices normal humans couldn't and shouldn't approach lightly.

There had to be somewhere he could still find a pack of cigarettes around here that hadn't been completely picked over by looters.

He shed his shirt and jeans and turned on the spray, immune to the cold temperature of the water as he stepped beneath it and steadied himself, on his way to ridding his body of the blood and grime he'd acquired earlier. Mentally cursing himself for failing to grab a new pair of jeans, he began using a generous amount of soap to scrub himself clean, just as promptly rinsing himself free of the suds. Twisting the faucet in the opposite direction, he abruptly stopped its use and reached for the towel that he'd slung over the bar above him, quickly drying off and draping it loosely across his hips. Heaving a sigh he didn't need anymore, he slowly drew back the curtain.

"I thought only Angel was Stealth Guy," came a mildly perturbed voice laced with something he couldn't quite discern. "Always making with the cryptic."

"Slayer."

"I had to hear everything from Dawn after I woke up. She said you were downstairs having Fred take your blood again."

"Got into a bit of a scuffle when we were out. It's not-"

"If you're gonna stand there and tell me it's no big deal, I may just be compelled to pummel you."

"Care to tell me how you think I should rectify it then?" Spike countered. "Maybe I should've written a sodding speech. Would've if I'd known I'd be given a choice in it. Unfortunately our pack of loyal half breeds dressed in black appear to be demons of little conversation and were more concerned about telling me they're giving me back my former self. The Plague held me good and proper while he stuck a needle into me. Couldn't fight it, though I s'pose I would've made the effort a tad more if I knew there'd-"

"I'm not mad," she said softly. "I'm not, and it's not why I'm here."

"You _do_ know I'm a vampire again, right? Fangs and bumpy foreheads, love."

"Yeah, and that doesn't matter. You're safe, aren't you?"

"Buffy-"

"And you can still be out during the day."

"I can, but that's hardly the issue at the moment."

"I know, which is why we need to talk."

"_Talk_? Can't see that there's much more to say. Am what I am. Talking won't change that."

"No, but you need it, don't you?"

He shook his head. "Need..."

"The blood? I don't think they make it a habit to bring it here and store it away for a rainy day when nobody else requires it. They haven't seen an actual vampire in forever. But you have to be hungry, don't you? That hunger will gnaw away at you unless you satisfy it."

He collected his tattered clothes and brushed past her, continuing on through the lengthy hallway and stopping only when he reached the room they shared, relieved to find it unoccupied by a certain six-year-old who he was sure was scampering giddily about after getting her required rest in for the evening. "What's the prognosis on the nibblet?"

She folded her arms over her chest as she watched him drop the towel, deciding she wasn't the least bit rattled by his obvious nudity as he reached for a pair of pajama bottoms instead of regular pants, pulling them up and over his legs. "Noelle can wait. Right now I'm more concerned about you and whether-"

"I'll consider the poor little chit a delicacy if I try to gobble her all up?" Spike smiled, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Like to think I know myself better than that."

"Yeah, and even after more than a hundred years you can still be a total moron."

He looked at her, the flannels riding somewhat low over his narrow waist, his hands clenching themselves in and out of tight fists. So tightly he nearly drew blood. "_Moron_? I risked my life for your little sis and got the pointy end of a sodding syringe from a git who likely wants me a lot deader than I already am. Way things are going, I figure I came out on top considering I escaped with little more than my loss of humanity. If that isn't noble enough for you, then perhaps you should be askin' yourself just how well you're doing your own job these days."

Buffy gritted her teeth as she continued to stare at him, trying with every ounce of willpower she still possessed not to get distracted by the bare chest in front of her. "I'm doing my job just fine."

"That right?" he challenged, stepping even closer to her, his blue eyes trained harshly on her green.

"It is, and you didn't lose your humanity. You still have your soul, and that's the difference. A _big_ difference."

Spike merely bit his bottom lip in amusement as she gradually advanced backward and found herself at a loss as she careened into the wall behind her, his hands enclosing themselves over her wrists as he pinned them to her sides, her chest heaving wildly as her breath remained warm on his face. "My soul doesn't stop me from havin' to feed, Buffy. Should know that as well as anything that's high on your list of finding out."

She boldly jutted out her chin at him. "You're gonna have to do a lot better than that if you want me to just-"

Silencing her, he brought his lips to hers and swallowed any objections she might've had, allowing his blunt teeth to nibble at her jaw and trail a fraction lower until he was hovering over the pulse on her neck. "Want to test me, is that it? Get me all hot and bothered so I'll lose what sanity I still have and bite you? Guess you'll have to push me a bit further on that front 'cuz I'm currently not in the business of budging."

"Where Anya's pendant?" she whispered.

"Put it away for safe keeping before I ventured out with Dawn."

"Then you need to smash it or accept my offer, because either way you look at this I'm not losing you when it hasn't even been that long since I've had you back."

"Technically it's been more than a few months, pet. Just didn't fancy you figuring out my secret with so little to show for it. But it's just another point we've beaten headfirst into the bloody ground."

"You have to feed," she demanded, "and you can't deny that slayer blood would hold you over a lot longer than pig or cow's blood."

"Or otter," he managed, shrugging. "Point is, I don't intend on giving it a go. Already let Peaches have a taste once upon a time, didn't you? Saved the nit when no one else could? From what I hear, it landed you straight in the bleeding hospital and we don't have one close enough to take you to here. Fred's a doctor, but she's not a miracle worker. Won't be able to transfuse you to replenish it."

"It's not gonna come to that."

"That sure of me, are you?"

"I am," she stated quietly, her eyes once again connecting with his, "because I still don't plan on losing you, you stupid vampire, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep you."

He was beyond floored by the admission. To say he'd experienced his share of shock during the course of his abnormally long existence would've been putting it far too insignificantly. There was a sudden need to gasp for air he didn't have with a heart that didn't beat, and he couldn't deny the way his mind immediately flooded him with memories of the day where he'd vehemently denied her declaration of love and put her safety first. Wanting her out of the line, he'd denied himself his own happiness in exchange for hers, never regretting it for a moment if it meant she'd live through the whole sodding horrible extent of it.

That fire she'd longed for, he'd given back.

But most importantly, he didn't have anywhere to run this time. Didn't have anywhere to go because he wasn't about to execute a repeat performance and burn for a cause that no longer was. It was here and now, and she was making a plea with him and giving him access to a side of her she rarely showed anyone. It was more than just a crumb. Corny as it was, it was a whole sodding loaf of bread.

His hand wasn't steady as he dropped to his knees and fumbled with the button to her jeans, painstakingly unzipping them and easing them over her slender frame so that they pooled at her feet. He could sense and smell the desire that had formed between her legs and the need to act on it was more than just a little tempting. Overwhelming, even. Instead, Spike trailed his fingertips gingerly over the skin of her left thigh as he shifted into his demonic visage, tenderly sinking his fangs into her supple flesh as he helped himself to what he couldn't ignore and what she'd refused to deny him. He heard her moan as her fingers threaded themselves loosely through his peroxide blonde curls, encouraging him even further while her eyes closed in what could only be construed as utter pleasure.

It wasn't the first time he'd taken it upon himself to consume the blood of a slayer, but this was one he didn't intend on draining as he worked to satiate the hunger that had been plaguing his veins since he'd returned with Dawn and had paid their resident doc a visit. This was about giving Buffy what she was giving him. He was pleased to see she was still conscious when he retracted his fangs and ran his tongue lovingly over the puncture marks as he sealed them, reverting into his human countenance. "Buffy."

"I'm good," she sided, nodding. "A little dazed, but peachy."

He laughed, a low rumble as he pushed himself to his feet, unable to resist gathering her into a hug while he buried his nose in her hair and took in her scent. "Good thing you didn't cry out or I would've felt bad about havin' the door wide open."

"I've been talking to Tara about a way to end this," she informed him, as she pulled off her socks and shoes and yanked her pants the rest of the way down. "She said if we can get those of us left over to our world, we'll seal up this dimension nice and tidy magically, and we might-"

"Almost like what Angel was saying at the bar before. Surprised the bit can't see what their overall plan is yet and how they're gonna execute it."

"Her slaying powers seem to be overshadowing the seer stuff right now," she clarified. "It's more than we should be asking her to process, so I can't blame her if she's having difficulty with coping. At six years old I wasn't even thinking about my future, let alone what I'd be doing less than a decade later."

"The girls Red made slayers were young, weren't they?"

"Not as young as Noelle. Besides, Willow used some intense hocus pocus to bring all of that Chosen One stuff to the surface and we've already seen that this world doesn't really give you the benefit of the doubt there with so much already broken. Vampires and slayers aren't as common, and if a slayer is called, it's typically gonna be more natural and not the result of outside meddling. They're more like a myth, remember? People hear stories, but they don't actually see them to validate. Anyway, Dawn said she'd stay with her tonight again. Noelle seems to really enjoy her company."

"She didn't ask about me?"

She smirked. "Dawn told her you needed a little time alone. That, and you'll need to think of what to say to her when she picks up on you being a vampire, which is always _so_ much easier when you're the slayer."

"Take it you also heard our first address led us straight to bloody Warren."

"Warren, as in robot Warren?"

"Surmised you would've gotten the rundown loud and clear already," he added, drawing down the sheets to the bed.

"Maybe I was just trying to repress the thought of a robot Buffy walking around somewhere out there made by the same guy who killed Tara and almost got me. Then again, chances are he never even met the _us_ that existed on this plane to begin with, so all things considered, I probably shouldn't go and read too much into it."

"No, you shouldn't. This one's afraid of his own shadow, and he made it painfully obvious he wasn't lookin' to join forces and pay his dues. Aimed a gun at my head before I got a decent hit in, too."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"His entire team's dead, so I can almost understand why the bloke is the way he is. Our beasties stole his work too. He was convinced they're planning world domination with it, but it could just be for future reference. Wolfram and Hart have always relied on other means to gain influence and access to what they need and may not even have use for a bunch of killer bots roamin' the streets with a mission."

"Not enough survivors left. At least until you get to the neighboring city where they haven't been setting up camp."

"Could be in the cards yet, as I'd bet it didn't take 'em long to destroy a lot of what was left of this one." He picked up his jeans, reaching into the pocket and retrieving the miniscule snow globe he'd happened upon prior to returning, holding it out to her. "Dawn and I found it just beyond the perimeter of Warren's hideaway. One of the only things that remained intact over there."

Buffy delicately accepted it and studied it, her gaze somewhat filled with wonder as she shook it and watched Los Angeles being blanketed in white. "It's beautiful."

"Wanted you to have it," he murmured. "Especially since I can't give you a real one."

"You're talking about the world," she confirmed, her breath catching in her throat.

"I am, but it doesn't seem to make a difference how big it is, does it? We both saved it on occasion, and while it's not out of the question in terms of what we'll be doing here, at least we'll have something warm and cozy to remember it by."

"Not sure that's such a great idea with all of the carnage," she remarked.

"If you don't want it, I can-"

"No," she cut him off. "It's...I don't think anybody's every done anything like this for me before."

"Given you a snow globe? Well, I should hope the bleeding hell not. For one, it doesn't beat a romantic getaway for two to some tropical island that doesn't have the option of snow to begin with."

"It never really snows in Los Angeles, either. Sunnydale, maybe."

"Got me there."

"We should get some sleep in so we can get an early start tomorrow," she advised as she began removing the rest of her wardrobe, her fingers on the verge of prying open the clasp to her bra before she felt a hand squeeze her shoulder to halt her in completing the task, her emerald eyes once again meeting his.

"Care to let a fella in on what you're doing, pet?"

"I thought you'd already know since you're a guy," she retorted simply.

"Won't deny that I'm more than just a tad confused here, and if-"

"It isn't you."

He raised a brow. "What isn't me?"

"Those pants. And hey," she went on, "we're both adults here and if we're gonna see if this'll still work between us, we need to concentrate more on trust."

"So trust to you is being naked beneath the sheets without actually doing much of anything?"

"It's really not as complex as it seems."

"Think you're forgetting the reaction had when a gorgeous lady's in the same room." He wiggled his brows as he advanced towards her. "But just in case you need reminding..."

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as she held an index finger in front of her. "Don't you dare."

"Can't well run out of here dressed in only a bra and a pair of knickers now, can you?"

"I mean it," she warned.

"So do I, which is why you should put something over that before we call it a night."

She frowned as she reached for one of his t-shirts, suddenly feeling oddly uncomfortable. She placed it over her head and began to collect her belongings, her bare feet padding to the exit. "I'm sorry, I...I guess I should've...I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Buffy-"

"I'm such an idiot and you're still hurt. You're healing, but you're hurt, and it was wrong to joke about this. It's not fair to you."

"Piffle. Didn't do anything wrong and I never said I wanted you to go. How is this your fault?"

"It's just...I'm not really sure how to do this anymore. I always think I do, and I was stuck with all of these thoughts all day while you were gone that weren't really of the good, so the next thing is me worrying that I'm gonna screw it all up. Screwy Buffy. I'll do or say something that's not-"

"Come here."

She hesitantly let him to take her into his arms again, resting his chin atop her head as he allowed one of his hands too span the length of her back while cradling her waist with the other. "Have nothing to be ashamed about, and we'll do it right this time around."

"I really hope so, because I'm exhausted from trying."

He chuckled. "If we get under those sheets without a stitch on, there's not much I could do to stay away from you. This way we do it right. At least for now."

She crinkled her nose. "Does that mean we have to talk about couple stuff?"

"It just means we have to find a new strategy. Maybe it's the firm we need to strike up a bargain with direct, offer 'em a reasonable trade and concede to negotiation. Charlie Boy says we're tapped in that area, but I don't believe he's explored all of the avenues open to us."

"I think we're past reasonable," she argued. "There's no reason involved in this anymore. If we give them Noelle, it's all over."

He pulled back, placing her at arm's length, his blues somber. "Wasn't gonna give 'em Noelle, love."

Recognition was quick to set in, her fingertips nervously fumbling with the tie to his pants. "No. _No_. Out of the question."

"Was thinkin' about why they shot me up back there. Already know I'll need blood we don't sodding have at our disposal. More helpless as a vampire than I was as a human. The lack of it'll make me weak, Buffy, and there's no way I can-"

"Then you'll take it from me until we get home."

"You are home," a voice stated to their right. Spike caught the slayer before she stumbled and nearly lost her balance, the transition so subtle that he hadn't even registered precisely how or even when it had occurred. His surroundings were vaguely familiar to him and were gradually starting to register themselves piece by bleeding piece in his noggin as he fought to decipher them, their current location a far cry from the warehouse they'd taken shelter in just moments ago as they'd prepared to surrender to sleep. There were three figures standing several feet away, one of which stepped in to take Buffy and placed her on a sofa as she struggled to regain a semblance of order. The same one who'd spoken.

Angel.

The other had long red hair and a bright smile, quickly waving to him. "Hi, I guess, and...oops."

"Red?"

"Welcome back. Angel said Whistler actually wasn't too fond of this kind of thing, but it must've worked because you're back all safe and sound and one piecey. Well, not all of you, and I think that could be a problem, but-"

"Dawn," Buffy whispered. "They…_we_ left Dawn."

"If you'll just give me a chance to revise the spell, I'll try and-"

"Bloody hell," Spike muttered. "Do you know what you've just done?"

"Saved your lives?" Angel put in impatiently. "But judging from the lack of discretion you were practicing when we found you, maybe we walked in on something a little too intimate on your way over."

"You don't understand, you gormless tit. Not one shred. We've got a little girl that needs saving, so unless you can bring all of 'em here and make sure that portal stays closed for eternity, you haven't got a prayer. We've got no way of fightin' Wolfram and blooming Hart before they turn her into their latest experimental conquest. The pendant's there, too. Don't have it on me."

"Anya," Buffy added. "It was Anya's pendant. Look, it's not that I don't appreciate what you did, but Whistler was right. Just because he said something you didn't want to hear, doesn't give you the right to play around behind his back and do what you thought had to be done. Fred was figuring out a way to-"

"Fred?" Angel reiterated.

"Attractive slender woman," Andrew Wells volunteered, raising a hand, his attention focused thoroughly on Buffy and Spike. "Can I get you guys some more stuff to wear?"

"Please," the slayer agreed.

"My place," Spike supplied. "Get it myself as soon as we're done here."

"Oh, I think we're done."

"Slayer-"

"No," she snapped, silencing the blonde with a flick of her wrist. "Whistler knew what was going on, and if there was a chance that we could make this all go away, he would've told him. We were meant to stay and help those people. They needed us. Isn't that right?"

"Buffy you can't blame him, he-"

"And you just went along with it, didn't you?" she accused the witch. "However he convinced you, you just went along and did what he asked. How is that okay, Will?"

"I'm not saying it is, but it wasn't like we were-"

"But you did. Look, I...I can't deal with this right now. I have to go."

"We have your duffel," Andrew affirmed. "Angel grabbed it from Spike's and if you have to change-"

"I can handle myself."

"Apparently not," Angel interceded, "seeing as you hadn't made it back before today. Something tells me you didn't even try."

"You know what? This is your battle, isn't it? You brought this on all of us when you got on their bad side, and you can't bear to deal with the messy cleanup. You don't know what we saw and what it was like, and if anything happens to Noelle or my sister before we can reach them again, you'll be lucky if you've got anyone left to hear your story before this is finished. I can't believe I actually I went out of my way to see you." She turned to Willow, her expression exceedingly grim. "See what you can do about a reversal. If you can, get the rest of them here. We may not be able to make an entire dimension disappear, but we can try for a whole city."

"Buffy."

"Not now, Angel. I can't. Spike, I'll meet you at your apartment." Prying her duffel out of Andrew's clutches, she pulled on a pair of jeans and sneakers before turning on her heel and moving away from them.


End file.
